How We Met
by AusilinAzure
Summary: Some one-shots about how Patch and Nora could have met. I'm open to suggestions! Rated T for language.
1. Gym Scene

Number 1 - AU

Gym Scene

I yawned at the desk, eyes flitting over the gym machines before looking down at my phone screen and updating my status to 'officially bored'. Given that my last status was just 'bored', I had just taken life to a whole new dimension.

I started to stroll through the workout area. It was ten minutes before closing time and I was really hoping that there was no one left in the gym so I pack up early, my mind focused on the takeout I had in the fridge, leftovers from last night.

Unfortunately, my prayer went unanswered.

So I started to aimlessley stroll around the small gym, pretending that I hadn't just been checking out the guy in the black hoodie, at the height of masculinity, who was doing squats (you got it – arse full on show).

"Excuse me?" he said, grabbing my attention. I turned to face him, my eyebrows raised in question.

"Could you show me how to do a press up?" My eyes flitted down his body, and I was pretty sure that he'd done more pressups in his time than I had. Even so, I nodded and unzipped my grey jumper before dropping to the floor, leaving myself in a spaghetti-strapped tank top and some skin-tight jogging bottoms.

I crouched on the floor, balancing myself on my arms and pushing upwards before dropping down so my chin was in line with my palms. As I started to push up again, I felt a hand settle on my lower back, easing it downwards. It was too close to my arse for my liking.

"What are you doing?" I growled, quickly standing up and balling my hands into fists. I was angry, but I wasn't stupid enough to dismiss the fact that this guy could probably knock me out in one blow.

"Your form was wrong," he reasoned, his face a blank example of innocence. "What did you think I was doing?"

"So first you touch me in a way that _I _consider innapropriate and rather demeaning, and then you say that as a fitness instructor, I can't do a press up. How about you take my job?" I said sarcastically, hands on hips.

"Is it up for grabs?" He said jokingly, his lips pulled into a smirk. Then he amended his statement when he realised that I was truly pissed. "It's not your fault – I mean, you are ill."

"What?" I asked him, my eyebrows pulled together in puzzlement. "How did you know that?" Fear started to creep into my system.

"You've been sniffling for the past three days." When I didn't answer, he said, "Why don't you wear a sports bra?"

The question confused me quite a lot. "Why are you asking?" (AKA, was he interested? Is that why he was looking at my boobs?)

"Well I found it rather rude that I had to see your boobs hanging out your top earlier." My face turned bright red at his statement and I started to wring my hands together, looking down at my feet.

He cocked his head to the side, observing my movements. "What's wrong? Is something wrong? You know, the best listener is one that knows jack about you."

"It would be unprofessional to tell you about myself," I reasoned. But I wanted him to know. Why did I want him to know?

He scratched his chin. "Lemmie guess. Posessive boyfriend?"

I looked up at him with a scrutinising glare. "I was about to say pointy nipples, but that works too."

He took one step forward. "Don't lie to me, sweetheart. I can see straight through you."

I took a step backwards, hands dropping to my sides. "Sorry," I said sarcastically, wishing I'd punched hime earlier.

The guy laughed. "Don't apologise," he said, smirking. "It was quite a nice display."

I punched his shoulder (jokingly), and his smirk widened. "Do you wanna touch me that bad?" His eyebrow rose cockily.

"I have a boyfriend, jerk." I took a step back. I didn't want him to mistake my actions for flirting.

That's when he smirked at me. "That's the reason for the lack of sports bra, huh? Your boyfriend thought all of the straps were too sexy? Or does he think that sports bras have easier access?"

I looked at him in shock.

"My name's Patch, by the way."

"Are you saying that my boyfriend thinks I'd cheat on him? Because I'm not a cheat!"

"No, I'm just saying that you're boyfriends insecure and you're most definitely way out of his league."

"I think you owe me an apology," I said in surprise. "A really thorough one."

"I can do you one better than that. How about dinner?" And he grabbed my arm and whisked me out of the gym.

**A/N So how do you like it? :)**


	2. Secret Valentine

Number 2 – Soon after Patch flirts with Nora in Biology

Secret Valentine

"So I'm sure you all know what a Secret Santa is," Coach said, placing two empty tennis ball buckets in front of us, each one having a different gender Sharpied onto the face of it. "The idea of this is similar, but instead it's for a valentine. It doesn't matter of you're single or not – you're all participating. We're trying to see if love will bloom while you try and find your chosen person a gift."

The class groaned and I could imagine all the gross guys rubbing their hands in anticipation. It was probably going to be the only time they would ever get anything off a girl that wasn't their mother.

"All of the girls have to put their names and three things about themselves in the girls box while the guys have to do the same but for their box. I will only read out the personalities of the person you got and you will have to find them a gift. You will find out who they in two weeks, when you have to give them your gift."

Coach ended his spiel and the class burst into chatter. I could hear wishful girls hoping for all of the hot guys in the class, and horny guys hoping for all the easy chicks. I was in the minority who just wanted to finish the project.

I turned to Patch. "Hoping for anyone in particular?" I asked him, pulling my hair out of its ponytail and letting it cascade down my shoulders, hiding my bra straps that were peeking out of the boatneck shirt.

He looked at me with a smirk. "What are the chances that Coach would pair us two together? I mean, we sure put a show on before." I stuck my tongue out and decided that I would rather talk to myself than him.

"If you really wanted to know," he said in a hushed whisper, "There is one girl I want. She has pretty blonde hair and the biggest tits." Not me. Definitely, definitely not me. Big boobs? No. Blonde hair? Try brunette.

I smiled. "I hope you get her. You know, I always imagined you hooking up with older women."

"I usually do."

"I meant around fifty. Or maybe sixty. Do you like saggy boobs, Patch?"

To my astonishment, he smirked. "Babe. We all know I could do better than that."

"Nobody likes a cocky asshole."

He shook his head just as Coach started to collect the sheets of paper with our personalities. He _tsked_ as he came to me and Patch. I quickly wrote three points about myself.

-Likes the colour orange

-Watches lots of Sherlock

-Celebrity crush: Liam Hemsworth

Coach skimmed over the points, chuckling. I was pretty sure that my 'Secret Valentine' would get me something stupid, like a Liam Hemsworth mask or maybe some orange nail polish. Or maybe the Sherlock boxset. Damn, do I need the Sherlock boxset.

Coach picked Patch's sheet off the table, and my eyes watched him like a hawk as he did so, attempting to get a view of what Patch had written.

"You know," Patch said, "if you want to know more about me, just ask."

I turned to him. "What did you write on the sheet?" He rose an eyebrow as Coach began to assign pairs.

Leaning over to my table, he whispered,"Maybe next time, sweetheart," purposefully leaning far too close to my ear, purposefully letting his words wash over me, prusposefully making me blush. I had to conceal my shiver.

Saturday was shopping day for me and Vee, both of which had a valentines gift to buy.

"What do your points say?" Vee said, her shoes clicking obnoxiously loudly on the tiled floor of the mall.

I pulled the sheet out of my back pocket (because no, I had not learnt the points off by heart) and read, "Likes older women, is in your Biology class and likes fluffy socks."

"Fluffy socks?" Vee echoed. "Who is this guy? And what the hell did he mean by the second point?"

"Well," I started. "He sounds pretty smart, right? Like I wish I put that down rather than saying that my celebrity crush was Liam Hemsworth."

Vee turned to face me, grabbing my arm. "You wrote _what?_"

I rubbed my neck, embarrassed. "I had nothing else to write," I said.

"So you told a potentially hot guy that you drool over pictures of other hot guys. He'll probably think you're deperate and single. Just what you wanna tell a guy," Vee ended sarcastically.

I tried to change the topic. "What do I buy my guy, then?"

"Fluffy socks," Vee said offhandedly. "Or maybe a porn magazine filled with old women." I scrunced my nose up in disgust, thinking about how my 'Secret Valentine' must be one of those sex addicts sitting at the back of the class.

Vee ended up buying her valentine a vinyl and a box of love heart chocolate, while I bought mine a Biology textbook. She may have believed that fate chose her valentine, but I wasn't particularly interested in having a boyfriend. Plus, the guy had put down nothing for me to go on. And if he was a sex addict, at least I would help him pass Biology (pretty much all of the whore-y guys in my class sat at the back of the class and checked out the arses of the chicks that sat in front of them rather than listening to Coach. Anyway, how would a sex addict have the time to go buy a Biology book? It might ruin his cred if he got caught in WHSmiths or something).

But when the Biology lesson rolled around two weeks later, I felt quite embarrassed to be handing my Secret Valentine a textbook. I tried to bribe Vee into handing me her box of chocolates, but she wouldn't hear it.

"You should have listened to me about the socks," she said.

"As if that was a better idea than a textbook!" I groaned, frustrated.

Vee looked at me sympathetically. "No offense, but your guy sounds like a jerk anyway. Just give hime the texbook and leave."

"Maybe I should just not give him the book," I said, looking down at the very book-shaped gift in my hands. I had wrapped it in love heart wrapping paper, almost trying to mock my Secret Valentine. I mean, what kind of name was Secret Valentine? Surely your valentine was supposed to be secret, anyway?

Vee shook her head. "Be ballsy, girl, and I'll buy you a doughnut later. My treat." I rubbed the back of my neck in discomfort and nodded. I was a brave, independent woman. I could do this. The book had cost me fifteen dollars anyway, and it wouldn't be of use to me seeing as I already had one.

We would have matching textbooks. How romantic.

Biology started on a bad note. Everyone was curiously chatting about who Coach had assigned them to, but I just sat in my seat, eating an apple, bored, nervous, frustrated. At least it was last period.

Patch waltzed in on the bell and slid into his seat, but Coach was yet to arrive, so his lateness didn't matter.

"Why aren't you excited?" Patch asked me, rocking back in his seat.

My eyes flitted in his direction and I took another big bite of my apple. "I'm not that materialistic and I don't give a crap. This was just a waste of money."

Patch rose an eyebrow. "How much did you spend?"

"Fifteen dollars," I said, throwing my half-eaten apple in the direction of the bin. I missed.

Patch smirked. "You know, some guy back there spent fifty dollars buying his girl a gift."

"He must be desperate," I said, my finger tracing the line of the wood on the table, mind elsewhere.

"You would think that, but he's already got a girlfriend."

"Then he's a slut," I said. "And I get that you think I'm a cheapskate, but please stop. I have a headache." Then, after a moment, I reached into my bag and took out an iron tablet, swallowing it dry.

A moment later, Coach walked in, and the class' chatter ceased.

"All ready to find out who you're paired with?" Coach said, chuckling. He dumped his files on the desk, scattering the owner's pens everywhere. He ignored the mess.

One guy at the back shouted, "I wanna get laid!" and the rest of the class responded with whoops and cheers. I stifled a yawn.

"Unfortunately," Coach said, ignoring the comment, "You guys will not be getting the name of your valentine until you all finish this quiz." He started handing out a pop quiz.

The class groaned, but I was happy not to find out the name of my valentine. I had a feeling I wouldn't like him.

The first question was something to do with the human heart. I flicked through the paper, realising that quiz was about the heart and reproduction and pregnancies. I found myself scrunching it into a ball and throwing it at Patch's head. Why? I didn't know.

He turned his head in my direction, but I ignored him, trying to act innocent. I saw him shake his head in my periphery before continuing the quiz.

A small shred of paper landed on my table. I opened it, and it read, 'No need to hit on me,' in his stupid curly writing. I dropped the note on the floor, pressing it under my foot.

At the end of the quiz, Coach came to collect our papers. When he reached my table, he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Where's your paper?" he asked. I could tell that he was about to rage.

"You didn't give me one," I lied, resting my cheek on my palm, blinking to keep my eyes open.

He looked between my elbows. "Well then, what's this?" And there sat a completed quiz paper with the name 'Nora Grey' scrawled on the top of it. I picked it off the table, confused.

Coach reached over to take it from my hands as I mumbled, "That isn't mine." But he was too busy moving onto Patch to hear me.

"Patch," he said. "Where's your quiz?" I turned to my left to watch the conversation. Patch shrugged and leaned back in his chair, and Coach sighed, moving onto the next table, almost as if he didn't expect anything otherwise.

Patch had just been completing a quiz. And then I realised. He must have slid it on my table when I was too busy attempting to stay awake to notice. But why would he give it to me?

"Once I've read the names of you and your partner, you can leave the class to exchange your gifts in private and maybe to even go on a date," Coach said. "After all, it is Valentine's Day!"

Nobody else shared his enthusiasm.

"Okay," Coach started. "Aiden and Hannah." The pair looked at each other before standing up and leaving the class. Hannah was a loud bitch and Aiden was a nerd. That was not the best combanation.

Wolf-whistles were left in their wake.

Coach continued to say names. You could tell that he had done the matchmaking, because the pairing was horrible.

"Vee and Nathan." Nathan was okay. He was a quiet dude with dyed black hair, but I didn't think that he would be able to keep up with Vee.

As Vee left the classroom, she squeezed my shoulder, mouthing 'Good luck' when she reached the door.

About two-thirds of the class had gone by the time that my name was called out.

"Nora and Patch."

I looked at Patch, who was sitting to my left, and laughed. Freaking hell. Life just loved playing a cosmic joke on me.

So I leant down and retreaved my bag, walking out of the classroom. I didn't wait for Patch, deciding that I would take the bus home. Vee would probably still be talking to Nathan.

"Nora," Patch said from somewhere behind me. I could hear him coming closer and I maintained my pace, determined not to show anyone that he annoyed me.

He grabbed my forearm and I shook it out of his grasp. I stopped walking.

"Yes, dearest Patch?" I asked, crossing my arms over my body.

"Don't you want to see what I got you?"

"Not particulary," I said dryly. I really, really didn't want him. I felt like he was winning by somehow becoming my partner.

I turned to leave again, but this time he said, "Why won't you give me a chance?"

The thing – the thing that I was pretty sure he realised – was the effect he had on me. He made me annoyed and pissed and my heart flutter all at the same time, and I couldn't control my emotions around him. That was why I didn't want to stay near him.

I sighed, looking at him, saying, "Let's go to Enzo's, okay?" Today was half price milkshake day, anyway. And I felt more comfortable in Enzo's than in a school corridor. "It's a date."

Patch looked at me with a discerning gaze. "Just so I pay for all the food?" he asked.

I looked up at him from beneath my lashes. "Maybe." I _had_ spent my last fifteen dollars on his gift.

He threw his head back in laughter and I had to hide an embarrassed blush. Damn, I looked like a gold digger.

But as I watched him, I realised that it was the first time I had seen him laugh properly. This wasn't a smirk or half-smile. And I liked his laugh. A lot.

**A/N I would just like to thank you for reading and for my lovely review, follow and fave! (Hence the longer chapter;))**


	3. Office Love

Number 3 - AU

Office Love

"Tell me, Nora, are you a cougar?"

My head whipped in his direction. "Excuse me?" I asked, sure I had heard incorrectly.

"I asked you if you were a cougar," Patch Cipriano said conversationally, collecting the pile of papers I had placed for him on the edge of my desk.

"Mr Cipriano, I think that that's quite an inappropriate thing to ask me," I said. I was pretty sure that a guy like him could get a girl his age any day. The only reason he would want me would be money or a good reference.

He shook his head. "I might be your employee, but I don't see the issue." He leant over the table. "You're hot, I'm hot, who cares about how it would seem? As long as we have fun."

"I don't understand," I spluttered out, quite embarrassed to be caught in a scenario where someone at least 15 years younger than me would say something so...outrageous. I was pretty sure that my whole face had flushed.

"I think we're both old enough to be able to have fun, Miss Grey. I'm not asking you for feelings or money. Actually, my proposition is perfect."

"And say I don't do my employees, or maybe someone who is old enough to be my son, or maybe I don't have relationships without ties."

Mr Cipriano looked at me. "Those three reasons are why you're still single, Miss Grey."

He was now starting to grate me the wrong way. "Thank you for your truly inspirational insight, Mr Cipriano. Now if you'll excuse me." I turned back towards my paperwork, hoping he would get the hint and leave. He didn't. Instead he assessed me, his head tipped to the right.

"How about we make a compromise," Mr Cipriano said, pulling a chair out for himself and sitting opposite to me as if he were my client. "I don't plan on leaving without you and you don't plan on going out with me. How about we make have a proper relationship? Miss Grey, will you go on a date with me?"

"Why?"

"Because I like you."

"Wouldn't you like people your own age? I truly don't understand." I was hoping that my face was a little less red, but I wouldn't bet any money in it.

"As soon as I walked into my job interview, what, two years ago? I wanted you. I still want you. I don't see anything confusing about that at all."

Sure, it wasn't confusing when he put it like that.

"How can you be so confident when asking your employer on a date?"

"I had to swoop in. This has been my first opening in the last year." And when he put it like that, I sounded like a slut.

"How about dinner tonight?"

"I'm busy," I said instantly. I wasn't so sure about this. I hadn't become so comfortable with Patch as he was with me.

He laughed, tipping his head back. "Will you always be busy when I ask you on a date?"

"I-no. Patch, I can't date you."

"Can't, or won't?" He asked, seeming slightly frustrated. "You date every other guy who stands in front of you. Why can't you date me?"

"Patch, no, it's not like that."

"It's exactly like that."

I sat in silence for a moment, absorbing what he said. Sure, it wouldn't be a crime to date Patch, but I didn't want to get attached to him. And yeah, a lot of it was to do with his age.

He stood up. "I know that this is quite hard for you." He ripped a shred of paper off the pile I left for him, plucking a pen from my pot and scrawling something on it. "Call me when you decide what you want." He placed the scrap of paper in front of me, and then left.

...

"Vee, I need some advice."

"Shoot," she said, picking up her doughnut and biting a large chunk out if it, moaning. I shook my head, fingering the folded piece of paper in my pocket.

"Some guy asked me out at work today. Is it unprofessional to say yes?" Vee looked at me, wiping the jam from her lips with the back of her hand.

"I don't see why it would be."

"He's...he's much younger than me," I said, fiddling with the straw of my smoothie and avoiding her eye contact. I think the embarrassing part of this was, I wanted to go out with Patch. I wanted Vee to tell me that it was okay and I wouldn't be a complete slut if I said yes.

Vee took another bite from her doughnut. "How old?"

"He started working for me two years ago, and he was eighteen. So twenty?" Honestly, to me he looked exactly the same as the first day he walked into the office, but I guess that was because I saw him practically everyday.

Vee coughed on her bite. She swallowed it, eyes streaming. "A twenty year old asked you out and you said no?!" She shouted in the cafe. My face darkened when I saw everyone looking in my direction.

"Keep your voice down," I hissed.

"Is he ugly? If so, fair enough," she said, calming down slightly.

"No, he's..." I fiddled with the straw again, avoiding her eye contact. "He's really, really hot."

Vee looked up, eyes staring into my soul.

"Stop that," I said.

"I just don't understand," she said, putting down her doughnut. "Some hot twenty year old asked you out, and you're actually having to consider it? Say yes already!"

I hesitated.

"What's wrong now?"

"Well...what will everyone in the office think if I go out with Patch? He's half my age."

"They already know you're a slut," Vee said, attacking her doughnut. I looked at her in horror.

"What? It's true," she said when she saw I was still looking at her. "Babe, honestly tell me how many guys you've been out with in the last month."

I couldn't. I actually couldn't.

"Exactly. And you haven't really spoken about a guy so fondly in a long time." I looked at Vee in puzzlement, and she rolled her eyes. "You've been blushing this whole time."

"Oh."

...

"I understand your issue, but my department can't be downsized. You did that to me last year, and I'm still struggling." Patch walked into the room and I motioned him towards the chair on my desk, still busy on the phone. "No, last year you hacked away a third of my workforce. Natalie hasn't had anyone gone. I get that she is on the manufacturing end, but I need people to sort out the accounts. You can't cut their pay, they'll strike again, and so will I." My boss kept on talking about the statistics and how the numbers weren't adding up. "I know the numbers aren't adding up, I'm the one who gave you the figure!" He started repeating what he'd already said, so I put the phone down on him. I would call him back when he - and I - had calmed down.

I sighed. "What can I do for you today, Patch?" He smirked from where he was sitting.

"I think that I can help you relax." His eyes flitted to my breasts.

"What do you really want?"

"I was going to go clubbing tonight. Thought I should extend the invite to you."

"Are you being courteous?"

"I'm asking you out on a date."

I considered for a moment. "Where?" I asked.

He smirked. "Devil's Handbag. Have you heard of it?"

I nodded.

"Text me your address, babe. I'll pick you up." Then he left the room.

...

I pulled at my dress, smoothing it over my sides. I was hot, confident, and I could do this. I had decided on a tight black dress with matching heels, bright red lipstick and layers upon layers of mascara. I looked in the mirror, hoping I could pass as twenty five. I hadn't reached the big four-zero yet, so hopefully it wasn't an impossibility to shave over ten years off my age.

Who was I kidding? I didn't look a day younger, and that was what I had to sell to Patch. I mean...he knew my age when he asked me out. And today, I was going to have fun.

The doorbell rung. I grabbed my purse and opened the door to a rugged-looking Patch. His eyes scanned the length of my body, and a smirk of appreciation hung on his lips.

...

I downed a shot. Patch grabbed my hand and dragged me towards the dance floor, holding my hips against his body. I groaned in frustration, pulling his head closer to mine, kissing him as hard as I could. Too many layers. I wanted him closer.

Patch's arms tightened around my body, kissing me back firmly, one of his hands stroking the length of my body, spending extra time on the curve of my breast and arse. I didn't know why we came here. We should have just stayed at my place and fucked. I moaned as Patch's lips moved down my throat. I rubbed harder against him.

"Patch," I moaned, my fingers clasping the collar if his shirt. His breaths were shallow and fast, shifting the hairs near my ear.

"Do-do you think we could make it to the car? Or the bathroom?" Patch tugged my earlobe between his teeth, and I moaned again. His lips claimed mine, my whole body alight with his touch. I was thrumming to the beat of his heart, to the intake of his breath, and I knew that I wanted him.

I started to tug his hand towards the loos, but when he realised my destination he stopped me, placing a hand on my forearm. I looked up at him in confusion, and he took his lower lip between his teeth. And I was left to look up at his lips again.

He pulled my body close to his so he could whisper into my ear, "Let's not do this tonight." After a moment, I nodded, dumbfounded. I was an idiot. I thought he was okay with the sex part, but maybe he wasn't. Stupid, stupid, stupid - I had just made a fool out of myself, made myself look easy and made myself look desperate all at once. Great.

He moved his face from my ear, and I tugged my hand from his, moving towards the bar again. I needed a drink. Maybe a few.

...

"Goodnight," Patch said, leaving me at my door. I smiled in return, giving him a peck on the cheek, surprisingly not too wasted. The kiss might've been on the lips if he hadn't embarrassed me. Maybe.

Patch groaned. "Don't be pissed, baby," he said in a low voice, my heart somersaulting. Dayum, boy.

"I'm not pissed," I said as if in song, struggling to fit my keys into the lock. I was pretty sure I was about to rage at the door, but Patch took the key out of my grasp, twisting it in the lock. Hmph.

Patch grabbed my arm before I could get through the door. "If you're not pissed, I'm sure you can do a little better than a kiss on the cheek."

"What do you want, a kiss on your dick?" I said, leaning against the doorway.

"Don't give me ideas." His eyes glowed menacingly in the moonlight, and I found it impossible to look away.

After a moment I smirked, moving away from the door. "Goodnight, Patch," I said pointedly. I closed the door.

...

"So tell me exactly what happened," Vee said, twirling pasta around her fork. She had left James, her son, with Gavin. She was lucky to be married and have a child, whereas I was still meandering around in the sea of decreasing fish.

I laughed cynically, taking a sip of wine. "We went to a club." Vee nodded, as if she expected nothing different, and gestured for me to continue. "We were dancing and I..." She rose her eyebrow this time. "I started dragging him to the loos and he rejected me." I stabbed the pasta dish with my fork.

Vee smirked. "Maybe it's a sick revenge tactic. I mean, you put a blunder in his ego when you initially didn't accept his proposition."

"Shut up." Then after a length of silence, "I bet he thinks I'm desperate."

"Probably," Vee chuckled. "It's funny, because I can't remember the last time you were rejected. Actually, I can't remember the last time you cared so much about one of your dates."

"I'm afraid that there'll be no people left in the world after Patch."

"Do you not watch One Born Every Minute?"

"Thanks," I muttered sarcastically.

...

Saturday and Sunday rolled by and I was soon getting ready for work again, pulling on a fitted red blouse, pencil skirt and killer heels. I lined my lips with a deep pink colour, bringing all the attention possible to them. I was going to tease the shit out of Patch, a guy who I had only been on one date with and had already sought to punish for...well...yeah. Maybe he wouldn't think I was a psychopath and want to date me again. I hoped he liked me enough to deal with it, because he genuinely offended me by not having sex with me. Maybe he didn't fuck people my age - maybe he didn't really want me, but instead wanted something to joke about with his college friends or whatever. I didn't know.

So when I pulled up at work, I picked up my purse and my laptop bag (containing paper and not a hunk of metal, although I couldn't be sure which was heavier) out of my car, striding towards the building with purpose. I fiddled with the keys, trying to pull them out of the laptop case without dropping my purse.

No one else was in yet; in about half an hour the early birds (or people who didn't finish something yesterday) would start trickling in, heading towards the table in the centre of the room which I started to fill with coffee and doughnuts. Fuck my managers who were cutting spending and employees. I had been working in this position for five years, and the only reason any of these people even smiled in this hell hole was because of the free food.

Plus, I did like the convenient excuse of being able to have a free breakfast.

I had just finished placing the last mug on the table when the door opened. I checked ny watch. This was pretty early for someone - anyone - to be in here. I turned around, expecting maybe Dylan, my overly camp assistant, but instead I saw...Patch.

"You're here early," I stated.

He gave me a twice-over, eyes lingering in certain areas before he mumbled, "I forgot something." His gaze was now glued to my chest.

I almost wanted to say something rude, but I caught myself. "Okay." I turned around, strolling towards my office.

"Aren't you gonna ask me what it is?"

"Aren't you going to tell me?" I grabbed the door handle.

I could feel him closer. "You are really offended by me not fucking you in the toilets, aren't you?" I said nothing, opening the door and walking in. As tempting as it would have been to shut the door on his face, I reminded myself that a) I was at work, so I couldn't be rude, and b) I didn't want to show him that his rejection affected me.

Patch followed me, closing the door. "The only reason I didn't fuck you was because you were drunk. I don't take advantage of women, and I didn't want to ruin anything with you. I really like you, Nora."

Finally I turned to look at him. His dark eyes were pools of sincerity, his lashes long and thick. For a split second, my eyes moved towards his lips before flicking back upwards. But he had seen my action so I blushed, hanging my head back over my shoulders and groaning.

"As happy I am to hear that, Patch, let's not have that conversation here."

"How about," he stalked closer to me, "we do something..." his body pressed up against mine, my lower back hitting the table, "that doesn't require talking?" His lips at my ear, attacking my neck, his shirt bunched in my fists, straddling, moaning, Patch. He began unbuttoning my blouse, lips connecting to every available inch of space.

"Patch," I moaned, his hands everywhere. He kissed back up my neck, moving his lips onto mine. I almost expected the kiss to be messy and frantic, but instead he tried to control his desire by slowing down his movements, his hands dropping from my breasts down to my hips. I used one hand to undo the buttons of his fitted shirt while the other sat in his dark curls, tugging. My legs were clamped around his waist.

Once his shirt was undone, I placed my palm flat on his chest, feeling his heartbeat thrumming, body warm in contrast to my cool hands. I dropped my hand from his hair, placing it on his shoulder. I wanted him. But in more than the sexual sense - I wanted him in a way that stopped my head spinning and my heart screaming in agony. I knew that having sex so early in this (relationship?) would practically brand it, force it to only be about sex.

I pulled away from Patch, breathing heavily. I loosened my grip around his hips and after a second of hesitation, he started to button up my blouse. I didn't bother with his shirt, because yes, I was enjoying the sight, and it gave me a good excuse to avoid eye contact. When he was done with my shirt I dropped my legs from his waist, but he didn't move.

"That was so hot," he whispered, his lips a raw pink. He leant towards me, placing a hand on either side of my hips. "I'm gonna fuck you on this table." His lips brushed my cheek, gentle as a feather, and I allowed my eyes to fall shut. I wanted him to hold me - to care about me - but I knew I was asking for so much. When you're twenty, you want fun, not a serious relationship. He probably only dated me because he saw me as a conquest.

I opened my eyes when I felt him move away. He smiled when he saw my hair and my neck and the flush on my cheeks. He started to do up his shirt, and that was when I knew that nothing more was going to happen with Patch. As soon as I stopped the snogging session, he realised that it would take too long and too much hard work to get me into bed. I slid off the edge of the table, patting my hair down.

Rolling his sleeves up, Patch said, "D'you wanna go out somewhere tonight?" I rose an eyebrow in his direction. "I was thinking someplace chilled. After work we could both go grab something from a cafe or something?" Surprisingly, Patch did still want something to do with me. "Or maybe not," he said after a gaping silence that only lasted a second. There was silence once more.

"Depends on the cafe," I said offhandedly, giving up on the hair and leaning on the edge of the table, stretching my legs and crossing my ankles. Patch's eyes followed the movement.

"Wherever you want, babe," he said, eyes flickering between the definite hickeys on my neck and my eyes. "Wherever you want."

**I just wanted to say thank you for the fabulous support and comments on this story :)**


	4. The Girl Patch Fell For

**A/N This is a bit about Patch's backstory (or how I would imagine it) rather than how Patch and Nora could've met. I hope you like it!**

Number 4

The Girl Patch Fell For

"Patch…I know about the girl you fell for. It's been a long, long time. Who was she?" Unknowingly, Nora had asked the question that Patch feared the most. Certainly, after his near-death experience, the letter he left behind sufficed for about…fifty years. It was romantic. But now Nora was curious, and after swiping the question to the side for probably however long they had been together (minus fifty), Patch knew he had to tell her.

Patch sighed. "It was a while ago, Nora."

She nodded, waiting for more. Patch sat down on the edge of the bed, and Nora placed her had in his, her skin soft and her touch gentle. He closed his eyes and fell backwards onto the bed.

"When I was an archangel, I had lots of duties, responsibilites…I was to set an example and keep the other angels in line, to show them right from wrong. It's hard to explain, but I did it because it made me feel alive, Nora. I wasn't paid, but being an angel is the best job you can have."

"Why?"

Patch peeled his eyes open. "Well, you can never do anything wrong." Nora laughed, flopping on the bed beside him. "It didn't take time for angels to be archangels; it was measured by the purity of their souls. There was no test. When He created us, we all had jobs, and mine was to be an archangel.

"Being an archangel wasn't about being on top. It was about serving, keeping things in line, helping other angels. There was no lust involoved, and you weren't supposed to have any distractions. But I had met Dabria. When the other archangels found out, they were furious, but if I wanted them to keep my secret, I would owe them. And for some reason, I promised them not to tell anyone about their behind-the-counter deals. I guess I loved Dabria that much.

"I stopped loving her after a while. The deals that I had promised to keep a secret were piling up, getting bigger, and I could do nothing. An angel can't break a promise. I was tired of having to cover for the other archangels, and they began terrorising Nephils for their cause. They betrayed Him by coming onto Earth for lust and money. They would use their powers in the human world. It became repetitive – I would have to take over the job of the four of us while they…" Patch cleared his throat. "I was out on assignment. This girl she-she was twenty four, with beautiful raven hair and green eyes." Patch's voice was now empty. "I saw her, and for a second I forgot what I was supposed to be doing. I knew her name – I knew everything about her, everything that she had done, everything that she was thinking. She was a schitzophrenic. They were going to burn her alive. They thought she was a witch.

"She wasn't a witch, but she _was_ a Nephil. The other archangels had decided that they wanted to use her to test their weaponry, and for once I realised that even though I had promised to keep what they were doing a secret, I never promised to help them. I hid her. I would spend more and more time out of heaven, visiting her, wanting to be with her.

"There was a rumour that once an angel left Heaven for Earth, they would still have their wings. It had gotten to the point that I cared so less about Hell and Heaven that I did it." Patch dropped Nora's hand. "I trusted the rumour and I left my world behind for this one. I burned my ring that allowed free passage to Heaven. I was never going to come back.

"I went to find the Nephil girl, and I did. She didn't know I was an angel, but I told her that I needed to stay with her, that I had no home. She let me in. I loved her a lot." Patch shook his head.

"Three hours later, I could sense a familiar presence. It was another archangel. He found me sharing a bed with the Nephil girl and stabbed her with the weaponry that _I _let him make. I was weak after my transit to Earth. He ripped my wings off and left me a token – a ring to Heaven. It was his way of telling me he'd won. But I already knew that. He'd killed the exact reason I had left my home.

"I buried her. I had never felt such loss before. Never.

"It took me a while to stop trying to get revenge. I wanted to kill him for what he had done. If he could kill a Nephil, surely I could kill an angel? He had given me a ring to Heaven, all I had to do was find a way to get there.

"I never found it. It took me a long time to give up, and it took me a long time to stop loving her to the point that I could get a Nephil vassal. I was hardened and I was stranded. Every Cheshvan I would go to Chauncey and then I could feel again. I hated the first few changed because I could feel the heartache, but over time it lessened. Evelyn was dead, but I was not.

"In the earlier years, I did try to find a way to kill myself. I blamed myself for her murder; if I hadn't wanted to be with her, the archangels would not have seen my actions as a betrayal and killed her. I wanted to find her in Heaven. At one point, I thought that if I died I would meet her there. It was stupid, because no angel would accept me back.

"Dabria would visit me. She would tell me she wanted me to come back home, but I knew it was impossible. I humoured her. I asked her if there was any way I could get into Heaven.

"I became a licenced killer. I would fantisise what I would do when I met the archangel who had killed Evelyn – I had decided how I would do it, how I would trick him. My every victim bore his face." Patch stopped, closing his eyes. He had told Nora what she had asked. Nevertheless, he was tired and he wanted her to know the rest. He reached for her hand.

"I felt as every other fallen did – I wanted to be human. An archangel came down to me and told me that, with the help of The Book of Enoch, I could become human. I asked him why he told me and he said it was because he was my Brother. I didn't believe him.

"Angels did not have brothers of blood, but they were Brothers if on the same rank or if they were close. We were neither.

"He would feed me more about The Book of Enoch while I would tell him about Nephil activity. I didn't ask why he was interested; he was curious, I told myself.

"One night, I followed him. He went to a club, and watched only one of the strippers. The Nephil one. She didn't know, but he did. I realised in that moment that he wanted to use The Book of Enoch to find a way to make her an angel. I knew he would not become human or Nephil for her.

"I confronted him, but he told me nothing. I found out no more about The Book of Enoch, but I knew enough.

"After a week of searching, I found you. You were hidden from someone, which had made it difficult for me. I watched you for a year, and I felt the same feeling I had from when I was with Evelyn. I tried to push it away. I didn't want anyone killing you before I could." Patch stared up at the ceiling, jaw taut from his ground teeth.

After a moment, Nora said, "Wow." When he didn't move, she leant up to cup his cheek. "You love her," she stated, jealousy palpable.

"No," Patch said. "I fell for her. I love you, Nora."

"Then why is she so painful to talk about?"

"She died because of me, Nora. Don't you get it?"

Nora moved her hands from his face, dropping them to her sides. "That isn't the nicest bedtime story." She moved her hands to her stomach. "Let's hope junior didn't hear it."

**A/N Again, this is just my interpretation of Patch's backstory. I hope you liked it! The next chapter should be another one shot on how they met. Toodles :)**


	5. Constable Grey

Number 5

Constable Grey

"Hands where I can see 'em," the girl with bright hair said. She pointed her taser in my direction and I held my hands level with my shoulders.

Rixon smirked. _She's a hot one, right? Should we mess around with her a little?_

I looked at her ruffled eyebrows, her lips curled in a snarl, her steady hands and her unsure gaze. _Nah. She's mine._

_Let's make it a little contest. First one to seduce her gets her. _

_Deal, _I thought.

"Honey, what are you doing? Do you need to dial a friend?" Rixon asked, lowering his arms.

The girls glare turned icy. "If you don't move your arms back, then I will not hesitate to shoot you."

Rixon ignored her, running one of his hands through his hair. "I bet you'd be good on top."

_Slick,_ I told him.

Rixon just winked.

She tased him.

_Dude, _he said. _I think I'm gonna have to fuck around with her a little._

_No._

"Tell you what," I said. "I won't tell your boss about that-" I pointed my head in Rixon's direction "-if you go on a date with me."

_Bribery? Smooth, Patch. Not like you'd be able to get her any other way._

_Challenge accepted, arsehole._

"Piss off," the girl said.

"What's your name?"

"Constable Grey," she said.

I smiled. "That's so hot. I bet you know just how to put guys like me in their place, right?" The hand holding her taser started quivering slightly and I could see her flushed cheeks. I took a step towards her and she pointed her gun at me.

"Whoa, tiger," I said. I took another few steps in her direction and her hand started full-out shaking.

"I'm going to tase you," she threatened.

I shook my head. "No, you're not. How about we get out of here? Leave him behind." I nodded my head in Rixon's direction.

"My colleagues are coming," Constable Grey said. "I need you to stand against the wall."

Rixon stood up, causing Grey to jump in shock. "What the hell?"

"Huh?" Rixon said, an evil smirk consuming his face.

Constable Grey tased him again.

"Third time's the charm," he said.

_Dude. Play along. I've nearly got her number._

_What do I get? _

I rose my eyebrow in his direction. _You owe me for last night. _Last night, I had helped Rixon with a bunch of Nephils that were on his back. Damn, did this boy owe me. My motorbike was totalled and after that happened, I seriously considered never helping his sorry arse again.

When Constable Grey tased him again, Rixon fell to the floor. _I don't get what you see in her. Like she's hot, but so what? _

"Against the wall," she said. I obeyed.

Another car apporached, pulling in. Someone stepped out.

"What's happened?" The guy asked. He was roughly the same age as his colleague, his voice worn. A smoker. From the easy way he talked to Grey, he probably had a soft spot for her. Even so, Grey seemed reluctant to reply when she realised who had been sent to help her.

"Bank robbery," she said. Her hands moved onto my body, running down the length of it, checking my back pockets, my front pockets. Her lips were dangerously close to my ear when she whispered, "Left back pocket." Her number. Of course.

_Kerching, _I told Rixon.

_It's time for us to get out of here, _he said. _3, 2, 1…_

He jumped up and I punched the police officer who was trying to hold me down. His nose cracked as my fist collided with it. I fucked with his head so he wouldn't remember what me or Rixon looked like.

I leant towards a gobsmaked Constable Grey, giving her a kiss on the lips. "Later, Angel," I said. I gave her another kiss before running after Rixon.

**A/N Hoping this one's short but sweet. Got another two GCSE exams tomorrow, yet I still write you a chapter *sigh***

**Good luck to anyone else doing their exams! :)**


	6. Vee's Theories

Number 6 - AU

Vee's Theories

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You never mean to hurt me, but you always do!"

"Stop shouting at me," Baruch said calmly.

I gritted my teeth. "You're the one who cheated."

"Stop throwing it in my face again and again. I told you I was sorry, didn't I?"

"Do you even care?"

"It's obvious you don't trust me. Maybe we should take a break." Wow. That escalated quickly.

"_I _don't trust _you? _When was the last time you let me out with my guy friends?" I realised how pathetic I sounded. Like he controlled me.

"You still did it anyway," Baruch said on the other line. We were silent for a moment. "If you hated it so much," he continued, "then you would have already dumped me. But you knew you couldn't get any better, could you, Nora?" His tone was condesending.

"I could." But my unsureity leaked into my words, oozing and suffocating me.

"Tell you what," Baruch said. "We meet up tonight and see how it goes, yeah?" I wanted to say no. I didn't want to have sex with Baruch again – not because he just wanted it and I was too weak to fight him, to fight his allure and my emotions. We had both gone past the point of him wanting me for me. Now he just wanted me for…

"Do you even care about me?"

"Is that really the issue here?" Baruch said. I could hear the sounds of cheers in the background. He wasn't even taking me seriously – he was watching the football during our conversation.

But he was right. The issue wasn't whether or not he liked me – I would never say no to him.

"Maybe it is," I said, putting my brave front on.

Baruch sighed. "Do you want to have this conversation in person? I could head over now." He knew better than anyone that I would not be able to say any of this to his face. Him simply looking me in the eyes with desire written all over his features was good enough for me. It didn't matter that what he felt was totally physical. He could still break me down.

"I'm okay with this," I said. "Anyway, I'm not sure if I want to be with you if you don't care about me. You know that that's not what I'm looking for."

"Fine. Goodbye, Nora."

He put the phone down.

…

"So I bought three cases of beer. Are the guys still coming to your place tonight?" Patch said. I pressed the phone between my shoulder and my neck, humming by a way of answer. I could hear his gentle laugh on the other end of the line.

"You didn't forget this time?"

"Never." I tried to sound sincere but I just sounded tired.

Patch cleared his throat. "Baruch just told me that you guys broke up. Do you need a girly hug and maybe some ice cream?" As tempting as that sounded, I was quite stumped as to how that was going to happen. When I voiced this, Patch laughed again. "Not me, Nores," he said. "Dabria."

Oh. The bitch. "Is she coming tonight?"

"Yeah," Patch said. "Will that be a problem?" Patch knew how much I hated her – it was irrational, intense, and quite idiotic. Neither myself or Patch understood it, but she didn't like me either, so it wasn't as if she was victimised.

"Not at all. I just can't believe you suggested her as my snuggle buddy." It didn't come out as a joke as I had expected it to. Instead, it sounded bitter.

"Hey," he said. "I thought you would be desperate." Sure, I'd been desperate the last three times me and Baruch had broken up, but today I was eerily calm.

Me and Patch had met in college, and had been friends ever since. I was an undergraduate at the time, studying dual the Geography and Maths course, whereas Patch was studying maths and more maths. We had met in one of our classes and spent the rest of the year swapping notes and final presentations. It was great. Now we had both left college but stayed in the same area, looking for experience and a way to get rid of our student loans. We were going to room together, but my mum was one hundred percent against me sharing a flat with a guy, even if it was Patch, _especially _because it was Patch, even though I hardly saw him as a guy anymore.

"Funny shits," I said. "Fancy piicking up some barbecue wings on your way here?" It was the one-a-week meet, and today it was at my house. We would have our own little party – alcohol, food, films, ice cream. Anyone was invited but our friends usually only bought their partners and stuff with them.

"Sure," Patch said easily. "I'm getting in the car now. Not sure when Dabria's coming. Kinda hope she doesn't come."

Bitching about Dabria. I wasn't going to pass.

"Why not?" I said in the most casual and innocent voice I could manage. I heard Patch sigh on the other line.

"She gets really territorial when she's around you guys. I swear she lets out her inner gorilla."

"Interesting. I thought that was her all the time."

"I should _not_ let you get away with slating my girlfriend at every opportunity."

"Then why do you?" I asked, followed up by, "What should I cook tonight? I'm feeling spaghetti, but if Dabria's coming then I'll make something else."

Patch ignored my first question. "Why would you make something else?"

"Last time she practically told me the reason I wasn't a size six was because of the amount of carbs I ate. FYI, I'm happy being an eight-slash-ten. And FYI even more, carbs are important. They're the reason C is third in the alphabet. And that all important C seems to be linked to other things great in the world. Like chocolate. Tell me, Patch, does your cranky girlfriend even eat chocolate?"

"I think you should talk to other girls about your bitching problems. I have no idea what to say," Patch confessed. "But you look beautiful just as you are." My stomach filp-flopped, but he was lying. The reason that I dealt with Baruch was because I wasn't pretty enough for anyone else. And the reason I would change my whole menu plans was because I was so self-concious that I couldn't deal with a weight comment from a beautiful, skinny skank.

"Hmm. Vee would be a far better listener. But you're helping me with my menu. Tell me, Patch. How does soup sound?"

"Soup and wings? Shitty. Why don't you just make some of your usual stuff? I like spaghetti."

"And I like chocolate cake. Any other suggestions?"

"If I come over now and help you out, can we make cake? Damn, I really want some now."

"You'll wash up?"

"Sure."

…

"I think Barcuh still plans on coming over tonight," Patch said, sitting on one of the kitchen stools and watching me mix the cake. He had said that he would make it, but instead retreated and gave me free reign of my kitchen. Maybe I was slightly protective. Sue me.

I dipped my finger in the batter to try it. "Why would he do that?" I asked, licking my finger. Patch watched the movement.

"Because he's a jackass. He's probably going to bring his new girl with him." Deep down inside I knew Patch was telling me to warn me, but I didn't want to hear it.

"Let's not talk about him," I said.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I moved my attention away from the cake mix. "Why?"

Patch's black eyes danced over me. "I knew he was a jackass when I introduced you two. I just thought he would take you seriously."

I smiled at him. "Be honest with me, Patch. Who takes me seriously?"

But his eyes were dark and dangerous. "I swear, there are times that I want to rip his balls off and feed them to the crows. Do you know-" his sentence broke off and he took a deep breath. "Do you know how much I want to kill him? He's hurt you so much. If he comes tonight, let me kill him." His tone was edging on pleading.

But what would be the point in killing him if I was just going to get back with him, anyway?

"Why do you always settle for him? He's an arsehole. _I_ don't even talk to him anymore."

"And because you don't talk to him, I can't either?"

"That isn't what I meant," Patch said exasperatedly.

We remained silence as I poured the cake into a tin.

"Why do you stay with him?" Patch said quietly.

I bit my lower lip. "It's not like I could do any better," I said, keeping contact with the mix and the oven.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is-" I opened the oven door "-no one else would be interested in me."

"Plently of guys are interested in you," Patch said offhandedly, treating what I had said as a joke. "Give me a proper excuse. Come on."

I looked at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"That's all you got?" Patch said. "You honestly think that-"

"I don't wanna talk about it." I hated the way that I was going to land on Patch's _Idiot _list too. I wasn't stupid, and I didn't want Patch to think of me like that.

"Just stay away from him," Patch said, his eyes searing into mine. "_Away."_

…

I opened the door to Dabria. "Welcome!" I said, trying to hide my disappointment with cheer. "I almost thought you weren't going to make it."

Dabria hung up her coat. "So did I," she said. "Thankfully I was able to catch an earlier train. Is Patch here?"

"Just through there," I said, pointing towards living room. Dabria sauntered off, her heels clicking against the linoleum flooring.

I sighed. More alcohol required. I wasn't sure if I would be able to stand to watch Dabria drool all over Patch. I mean, she'd only been gone three days. I was pretty sure that they had had three days apart before. But she was dramatic and Patch was in love, so I shut my trap and pulled out another beer from the fridge, going into the living room and sitting beside Vee.

"Have you and Baruch broken up again?" She asked, ignoring Rixon for a while.

I nodded. "How did you notice?"

"He isn't here," she said. "He never misses these meets."

She was right.

"Anyway, Rixon's got some hot friends which I would totally love to arrange a date with for you."

"No."

"But blind dates are fun!"

"Not for me."

"Say if I, your bestest friend, had maybe accidentally already called said friends and invited one over?"

"Then I, your bestest friend, would not hesitate to swallow your car keys and maybe even strangle you, if the urge overcame me," I replied conversationally. I knew Vee had called the guys as soon as she had suggested it.

"Sorry," she said. "I could call him and cancel."

"Leave it. Just make sure he knows not to expect anything." Vee said nothing, smirking.

"I think I know why you're crabby all of a sudden," she whispered conspiratorially, leaning towards my ear. Rixon moved to talk to someone else.

I sighed. "Why?" I asked, preparing myself for another crazy theory.

"Well," she said, drawing out the last syllable, "ever since Dabria's come, you've been hating on life."

"She came about three minutes ago."

"And there's _already_ a noticeable change in your attitude." I kept silent for her to continue. "I'm thinking that maybe you hate Dabria for being Patch's quite serious girlfriend?" It was posed as a question, but I knew that no one would sway her opinion.

"What are you getting at?" I asked, sippping my beer.

Vee hid her grin by biting her lower lip. "I think you lik-"

The doorbell rung.

"One second, babe," I said, standing up. I very well knew what she was insinuating, but it wasn't true. Vee was just being herself by thinking weird stuff up. A guy and a girl could be friends.

I walked towards the door, humming the tune to a Baroque song. When I opened the door, I was slightly unsurprised to see Baruch standing before me.

Patch's words hummed at the back of my mind. S_tay away from him. Away._

"Hello," I said civilly, keeping the door half shut and guarding the room from view with my body.

Baruch rose his eyebrow. "You aren't inviting me in?"

"I'm not," I clarified.

Baruch tippied his head to the side. "We may be over, but they're my friends too."

"This is my house," I reminded him. "If I don't want you here, then I have every right not to let you in."

Baruch reached towards me, his hand skimming up my arm, a trail of goosebumps left in it's wake. "Do you really not want me here?" He asked huskily, smirking as if he already knew the answer.

I looked over his shoulder. "I really don't," I said robotically.

"I really don't believe you." His fingers gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. He shot me his million-dollar smile, pecking my lips. My knees liquified.

"How about you let me in?" _Away,_ Patch's voice said.

"No."

Baruch sighed. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," I said. "That's the point. I want _nothing _from you. Go."

"Do you want a day to mull over our break up?" His lips were pulled into a smirk, his eyes laughing at me. "Maybe you want to dangle me on a thread, try and hurt me. You could never hurt me, honey."

"And I'm not trying to. I'm not like you."

He sighed wistfully. "Yet we are so compatible."

"Please go," I said. If he didn't get out now, I wouldn't be able to over power him. He would kiss me again and I would offer no resistance.

He leant against the door frame. "You've invited lots of people over. My girl is having to drive around the block again. No parking spaces."

"Why didn't you stay with her?"

"I wanted to talk to you in private for a bit," he said. I ignored the emotions the peaked at his words.

We were both at a standstill. A young girl came and wrapped her arm around Baruch's waist.

"This party seems quite tame, honey." It was only then that I noticed that she was dressed for a _proper _party. Or maybe that was her normal attire.

"Nores?" Patch said from somewhere behind me, probably the living room, "What are you doing?"

"I have to get going," I said to Baruch, turning to close the door. Patch came and stood beside me. "You were right." I turned towards Patch. "He did bring a skank with him."

The girl didn't seem remotely offended. I wouldn't either, if I was as beautiful as she was.

"Nora doesn't want you here," Patch said, venom slipping into his words. "Leave."

Baruch's head snapped up to Patch. "I don't believe that this is anything to do with you."

"It's everything to do with me."

Baruch took a step closer, moving away from his doll. "You sure about that, Patch?" They were practically chest to chest. Tension sparked through the air.

"Let's not!" I put a hand on Patch's shoulder, trying to pull him back, but he stubbornly remained in the same spot. The other girl didn't seem to care.

I tried to appeal to Baruch. "Stop this," I said, but Patch's cold tone addressed me.

"Don't talk to him," he said. His muscles were all bunched, shoulders tense. Baruch smirked.

"You're like a dog," he said to me, his eyes flitting between me and Patch. "You're only too ready to listen to what a guy says to you."

That was untrue.

"Shut up," Patch said. I could tell that Baruch was talking for his benefit.

I tried to pull Patch back again, but he shrugged me off.

"Tell you what, _dear Patch,_" Baruch smirked. "You can keep her. She wasn't even that great."

Patch was so angry that he started shaking.

"I remember one time she wasn't even up for it. I mean how boring, right? I got her to do what I wanted though. She's quite easy to manipulate." Baruch turned to me. "Remember, sweetheart?"

Condesending arsehole. But yes. I did remember. It was humiliating. I could feel the blush race up my neck.

"Don't talk to her," Patch growled.

Baruch flicked Patch's hat off his head with a lazy finger. "Whatcha gonna do, hotshot?"

**A/N So obviously this isn't the whole chapter. Sorry. I just wanted to upload something, the rest of the chapter should be up sometime soon. **

**Thank you for all of the reviews and support! It's really nice reading what you guys have to say. I have started a continuation on Number 2 and I quite like how it's turning out, so be ready to read that sometime soon too!**

**Sorry if I don't manage to update during the week. Exams. That one word.**

**I was listening to The Ghost Of Eddie at the beginning of the chapter, which I suggest to everyone.**

**Toodles :)**


	7. Vee's Theories Pt2

Number 7 - Continuation of Number 6

Vee's Theories

_"__Tell you what, dear Patch," Baruch smirked. "You can keep her. She wasn't even that great."_

_Patch was so angry that he started shaking._

_"__I remember one time she wasn't even up for it. I mean how boring, right? I got her to do what I wanted though. She's quite easy to manipulate." Baruch turned to me. "Remember, sweetheart?" _

_Condescending arsehole. But yes. I did remember. It was humiliating. I could feel the blush race up my neck. _

_"__Don't talk to her," Patch growled._

_Baruch flicked Patch's hat off his head with a lazy finger. "Whatcha gonna do, hotshot?"_

Patch punched him.

The world moved in slow motion until the contact was made, a loud ringing sound racing through my ears. I was pretty sure that I was trying to grab Patch and pull him inside, but he shrugged me off. He slugged Baruch in the face again. Baruch stumbled to gain his balance before punching Patch back. I shouted Rixon and Scott's names to help me break up the fight. There were punches from both sides, and I couldn't tell whose fists were whose. I was screaming Patch's name again and again. Baruch was notorious for the amount of fights he got into.

I had to remind myself that, yes, Patch had been in a fair deal of fights as well, but I could only think of how much Barcuh had hurt me and how much I didn't want him to hurt anyone else. Especially not Patch.

Scott and Rixon finally appeared, grabbing the pair of them. Rixon grimanced. "Why did I get this arse?" He pinned Baruch's arms behind himself in a painful manner, probably as a form of retribution for beating Patch up.

Let's just say that Baruch wasn't unscathed either.

Scott let go of Patch once he had calmed down. Rixon walked Baruch to his car and Patch held his sleeve to his nose to stem the flow of blood.

I moved forward to hug him as a form of thanks, but Dabria beat me to it. "Why did you do that?" she asked. I left them, moving to the kitchen to get some ice and a first aid kit.

Rixon was getting a glass of water. "I wonder why Patch fought," he said out loud. I ignored him, thinking he wasn't talking to me.

That was until he turned to me. "You know Patch told me that he gave up fighting, right? Even bet that he wouldn't have another fist fight until he was twenty-five." Rixon whistled. "Something must have really annoyed him if he decided that he wanted to throw away a hundred dollars." Rixon's gaze was calculating as his eyes cut into mine.

I didn't say anything, pulling out a bag of frozen peas.

"How long have you and Patch been friends?"

"Probably five years," I said.

Rixon grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink. "And in those five years, you've never thought about kissing him?" He asked.

I stood shocked for a moment. "Excuse me?"

"Kissing. Patch." Rixon punctuated every syllable, handing me the red toiletries bag.

I analysed him for a moment, waiting for him to say the punchline of the joke. When none was forthcoming, I said, "Never."

"Well that's got to hurt his ego."

"I think you've been talking to Vee too much."

Rixon cocked his eyebrows, attempting to mimick innocence. "Vee asks odd questions about you kissing Patch as well?"

I realised, a moment too late, that Rixon hadn't asked me if I liked Patch. Maybe he was asking about the kissing thing for other reasons, but I was the one who had jumped to conclusions.

_I_ was the one who was thinking about liking Patch.

…

When I got back to everyone, Patch was trying to swat Dabira's hand from his face. I could tell he was embarrassed by the attention. Vee came up to me.

"Are you okay?" She asked. I nodded by way of response.

She smiled at me. "Could you take Patch upstairs and deal with his face?"

"I thought Dabria would do it," I said dumbly, but Vee shook her head.

"She's trying to act brave for Patch she's a bit squeamish around blood." When I rose an eyebrow. Vee scoffed. "You may not like her, but she's actually pretty nice. Me and Rixon went on a double date with her last week."

"Thanks for telling me," I said, rolling my eyes.

Vee put her hands up as if in surrender. "I didn't want to piss you off."

"I'm not that petty," I said. Then I moved closer to where Patch and Dabria stood, pointing at the first aid kit. "Do you wanna sort this out upstairs?" I said to Patch. Then I turned to Dabria. "Could you sort out dinner?" For some reason, I didn't want to tell Patch about her squeamishness regarding blood. If she didn't want to say anything, I didn't either.

Dabria looked at me, relieved. She nodded and moved to the kitchen as I lead Patch towards the stairs.

…

"Thanks," I said to him once we were upstairs, wrapping my arms around his upper body. "I really appreciate it."

"Anything for you," Patch said thickly through his bloody nose. We both walked towards the bathroom and he sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

Given that I had volunteered for St John's Ambulance since I was twelve, I was probably the most qualified to deal with Patch's face. I moved his hand from his nose, running my fingers down the length of it.

"Doesn't seem broken," I said. I could feel Patch's eyes watching my every movement and it was making me uncomfortable. Tension rippled through the air, but it was different to the tension downstairs.

I smiled in Patch's direction and he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. "You know I would always fight for you, right?"

"You shouldn't get yourself in unnecessary trouble."

"You're worth it."

"Thanks." I turned around, pulling a face cloth from the drawer. "You're a good friend, Patch." I had to remind myself that he was a friend before I broke him and Dabria apart. He had fought for me. He didn't deserve to have his strong relationship broken.

I dampened the face cloth so it would be softer, gently running it across Patch's lips. His lower lip had a deep cut in it, either from a ring or from his lip getting caught between his teeth when he was punched. I ran my finger on his lower lip and I could feel an ache swirling in my gut.

"It's pretty swollen," I mumbled. I refused to look into Patch's eyes. If I did, I would end up kissing him. I knew it. And I wanted to kiss him so badly.

I took a deep breath. "Take off your shirt," I demanded. Patch obliged, his musles rippling from the action. There was a purple bruise blossoming on his right ribcage, a cut in the centre of it.

The temperature in the room increased by several degrees.

I rested a hand on his chest, running the face cloth over his rib. He winced. "Do you think it's broken?"

"No," he said huskily. I gulped.

"Neither do I. But does it hurt a lot?"

"Not too much." I removed my hand from his chest, smiling at him.

"You're a hard one, right? Would your ego take the brunt if you admitted that you're hurt?"

"I'm not hurt," Patch said defensively. My smile widened.

"Okay," I said jokingly. I handed him the peas but he didn't make a move to take them. "You're useless," I said, the smile brightening my tone. I gently pressed the peas to his nose, and he hid a wince.

"Me and Dabria have broken up," he confessed after a moment.

I rose an eyebrow. "Since when?"

"Since about twenty minutes ago."

"Oh, wow. I'm sorry." I looked directly into his eyes, and rather than finding sadness in them, I found desire and danger in them.

"She didn't want to be with me because she thought I had the hots for someone else."

"You told her you didn't, right?" I asked, adjusting the ice pack on his face so my wrist wasn't cramping so much.

"I didn't," he said calmly.

I rose my eyebrows. "Why the hell not?"

"Because it would be a lie. She was right. I do like someone else."

I chewed my lower lip. "Who?" My heart was pounding in my ears.

"What should I do?" Patch said, ignoring my question. I adjusted the ice pack again so I could look into his eyes.

"It's good that you're not dating Dabria anymore. That way, less people will get hurt, right?" Patch nodded. "Your happiness is important too, though. If you think that this girl likes you, then swoop in."

"We're pretty good friends. I don't want to ruin that."

I scratched my chin. "Sometimes you've got to take the chance. If you're truly good friends, then you'll be able to get through a bad break up. Or maybe that won't be the case." I smiled at him. "Now that I've given you my stellar advice, I deserve to know who this girl is."

Patch hummed by a way of response, grabbing my wrist and pulling it down from his face. I opened my mouth to protest, but he pulled me down against him.

I was so stunned that I tripped over my own feet. Patch chuckled, grabbing my hips and holding me between his legs. I told myself that it was all for my balance, but I knew that it wasn't.

He kissed me. Gently at first, but when he realised that I wasn't going to pull away, he kissed me harder. I pushed away the thoughts concerning his busted lip and pulled his face closer. We inhaled each other.

After a minute I realised that I was probably really hurting him, so I pulled away from his mouth and kissed down his jaw, then down his neck. He was already shirtless. My hands skimmed his back, my lips leaving open-mouthed kisses all over him. I could feel the shiver of his body against mine and it only enticed me.

"Guys?" Someone opened the door.

I considered stopping kissing Patch, but I really didn't care. The person could watch all they liked.

"Nora," the person said. Vee.

I turned around. "Can't you see that I'm a teensy bit busy here?"

Vee smirked. "Sure. But I just want to remind you that there are still a load of people downstairs, all of which are waiting for a _brave _Patch to show us his full recovery. After you've finished thanking him, of course." Vee turned to Patch. "Put a shirt on, sunshine." She walked out.

Patch scratched the side of his head. "Well that was annoying," he said.

…

I followed Patch downstairs. I wasn't going to tell him, but a trail of bruises were appearing down his neck, and they certainly weren't from Baruch.

"What are you smiling about?" Patch asked, still walking down the stairs.

"How do you know I'm smiling?" I asked, moving the bag of melting peas into my other hand.

Patch reached the bottom of the stairs. "You've been quiet for far too long." He faced me, grabbing the peas and face towel, striding towards the kitchen. I peeked into the living room.

Empty aside for Vee and Rixon.

"Where is everyone?"

"They went home about half an hour ago," Vee said.

I raised a questioning eyebrow. "Why did you just tell me that everyone was waiting?"

"If I hadn't, you and Patch would've probably fucked in the bathtub."

"Is there a problem with that?"

Rixon let out a dark chuckle.

Vee shot him a look I was unable to decipher before saying, "I was also getting bored."

Patch came up behind me. "Where is everyone?"

"You scared them away," I said, taking a seat on the sofa. Patch sat beside me and Rixon laughed again.

"What's funny?" Patch said.

I looked at Patch for a moment before taking in the darkening line of hickeys on his neck. I bit back my smirk.

Vee and I shared a look. "Nothing," Rixon said, averting his gaze and standing up. "What do you guys want to watch? I'll get some beers."

"No, seriously," Patch said, his eyes flitting between all of our faces. "What's up?"

"Have you looked at your neck?" Rixon asked, walking towards the kitchen. Vee giggled.

Patch rubbed his neck uncomfortably before putting two and two together and looking at me. "Seriously, Nora?" He said, chuckling. I bit my lower lip.

Patch looked at Vee. "I bet I still look hot as hell, right, Vee?"

"Don't answer that!" Rixon shouted from the kitchen.

"Yep," she said, popping the p. I could tell that she was just looking for a rise from Rixon – as I had been informed two hundered times too many, Rixon was extremely protective and it was very hot, apparentely. Now I would be able to judge first-hand.

"Your girlfriend has good taste," Patch said to Rixon who was still fumbling around in the kitchen.

"Shut it!" Rixon shouted. We all chuckled. I moved closer to Patch and he wrapped his arm around me, his fingers making patterns on my thigh.

Vee rolled her eyes. "You're both so sappy. Seriously. But that's good. That means I get twenty dollars."

"How did you reach that logic?" I asked.

"Well number one – Patch liked you first. There's ten dollars." She stuck out one finger. "And two, you guys forfeitted your friendship for your relationship. Rixon thought that it would take longer for you guys to…accept your feelings."

"You _betted _on us?" Patch said, raising his eyebrow. I just laughed.

"You're a dick," I told Vee, accepting the beer from Rixon but placing it on the sofa beside me. I had drunk enough for one night.

Vee winked in my direction.

"If you guys become official in the next twenty-four hours then I lose another ten dollars. You wouldn't do that to a friend, would you, Patch?" Rixon said.

I could sense that, while I found the bet amusing, it really annoyed Patch. I guess it was the concept of lost time. Maybe we could have found each other a year or two ago. What did it matter? We were together today.

Patch turned to me. "Nora, will you go out with me?" he asked.

"As tempting as that offer sounds," I tapped my chin in mock consideration, "I think…no." I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "As me properly, babe." I walked to the door, waving goodnight to a chuckling Vee and Rixon before going up to my room.

…

The song _Sexy and I Know It _woke me up the next morning. I groaned, reached for my phone, and picked it up.

"What?" I snapped.

"Lovely to hear from you too, sunshine," Patch said. "I'm waiting outside."

"What time is it?"

"It is nine AM in Maine, America, the weather is fai-" I put the phone down on him.

…

"Only took you twenty minutes," he said, grinning.

"Shut your fucking trap." I held a finger up at him. "You better get me a damn good breakfast or you will get nothing from me-" I motioned to my body "-for a fucking week." I was slightly hungover and it was nine fucking AM – I was practically running on empty. Did I also tell you I was surfin' the red wave? No? Well Patch was probably getting jack from me this week anyway.

Patch held his hands level with his shoulders. "Crystal clear. Get in the car, Princess?"

"I'm not a fucking dog," and contrary to my statement, I growled. Patch grinned, opening my door for me before running over to his side of the car.

"How about babe then?"

"No."

"Angel?"

I ignored him for a moment, trying to find where we were going.

"Angel it is."

"Huh?"

…

We had been sitting in Dunkin' Doughnuts for the past half hour, loading on food and coffee. Patch had opened a pack of Haribos and we were taking it in turns to grab sweeta and make up stories about them.

So far an egg had been catapulted through the desert, a heart had been restored from Dumbledore and another had been transplanted into the Joker, who, Patch insisted, had no heart, and a snake had died in an epidemic.

It was Patch's turn. "Close your eyes," he ordered. I rolled them before closing them and I heard the sound of the Haribo packaging shifting.

"Open your eyes, Angel." I opened them, only to see Patch down on one knee, a Haribo ring held between his thumb and his forefinger.

Gasping in exaggerated shock, I looked down to Patch. "Is this what I think it is?" I asked.

"After that frankly horrible rejection yesterday," Patch said, talking solemly, "I have decided to show my love for you by proposing the idea of us being boyfriend and girlfriend. And if you say no this time, you are not only killing my ego, but you are killing me." I could see the spark of humour in his eyes as he placed his free hand over his heart. "You wouldn't do that to me, would you Nora?"

His love for me?

What?

"I wouldn't," I agreed. "Patch Cipriano, I will gladly become your girlfriend." Maybe he wasn't being serious. Maybe it was a joke, just like he was making this whole 'proposal'.

Patch wiped away a fake tear from his face, gently grasping my left hand and sliding the ring onto it. "Let's hope we last forever, Miss Grey."

"Let's."

**A/N So the ending. Not sure what I think of it.**

**Thanks for the comment, fave and follow! Seriously, I thought all you guys hated me so I may have held off the update for a while...**

**Anyway, you guys can either have the continuation of Number 2 or a new meeting next - just tell me in the comment box :) **

**I have been asked to continue Number 3 - 'fraid to say that I'll need a while to figure what I want to happen if there is another chapter and how to write it without ruining the original, and if it would even be as good as the first. May take a while and may never come - sorry:(**

**Ausilin xxx**


	8. The Girl Next Door

Number 7 - AU

The Girl Next Door

I sighed, flipping my fringe out of my eyes haphazardly while walking up the neighbour's steps. I'd never met him, but I'd woken up to an empty fridge and a growling stomach and decided to take matters into my own hands. I crossed my fingers and hoped he wasn't a pedo before I rang the doorbell.

When no one answered the door, I tipped my head back in prayer. "Dear God, please don't let me starve to death. Please let my neighbour open the door. I'm too young to die." Call me melodramatic, but me and my mum had just moved into a new house, so when I said it was bare of food, I meant _bare. _We had moved after my father's death seeing as we couldn't afford the large detached house without two earnings. I thought my mother wanted to get away from the memories that the walls echoed rather then the large mortgage.

Knocking on the door again, I shifted from foot to foot. I was about to give up and approach another door when the one before me swung open, to reveal a lean male, bare-chested, boxers, bags-under-eyes.

"I woke you up," I stammered stupidly.

The boy scanned me wearily, the shadow of a smile bracing his lips. "I don't mind." I started to feel increasingly self conscious when his eyes stayed at my own bare legs (I was wearing shorts) for a beat too long, but I took the time to check him out.

When I didn't say anything, the boy - man - took it upon himself to prompt me. "What did you want again?"

I tore my eyes from his chest, my cheeks darkening. "I'm Nora. I just moved in." I nodded my head towards my house, holding out my hand for him to shake. He ignored it, eyes glued to my face.

He didn't reply, so I continued to talk. "I was just wondering for some directions to the supermarket. And maybe a breakfast bar or something. But you're asleep. Sorry for waking you. We can have proper introductions later." I took a step back, a step away from him. "I'll see you around-" I was going to say his name, but I realised he never told me it, "-um, Guy-Next-Door."

"Guy Next Door? Does that make you Girl Next Door?"

"No," I said, my cheeks darkening again from the sound of his low, husky voice. "That makes me Nora."

He smiled, and I actually caught a glint of his teeth. His dark eyes zoned in on me once again, keeping me in his predatory gaze. "I guess I'm the only special one."

"I don't know your name," I reminded him. A small part of me nudged me to ask him what it was, but I didn't want to seem overly keen.

Guy Next Door rose an eyebrow. I rose one back as a challenge. We both stood at standstill, him at the distinct advantage because of his nakedness. So close that I could have reached out and touched him.

I pushed the thought into a dark alleyway of my mind, locking it away, burning the key, burning the map to the alleyway, burning anything about it. He was my neighbour, and he was obviously older - something that someone like Vee may have found attractive, but I found pervy. I had to keep repeating that in my mind so my thoughts wouldn't stray to his body. Or to what I could do to his body - or more importantly, what he could do to mine.

"Do I make you nervous?" A secret smile.

"No," I said. "But that does." I motioned to his body, and his smirk widened.

I groaned. "Not like that. Like, not sexually. Just nakedness. I'm not good with it." _Great, Nora. Go and scream to the whole world that you're a fucking virgin. _"Like, not that either. I just, um." I scratched my chin. "I think I'm going to pretend this never happened," I decided. "See you around, Guy Next Door."

"You don't want directions to the supermarket?"

My face heated. "I have a whole street to bother. Don't worry about it."

I took a step backwards before turning around to walk away. "You could eat here," I heard over my shoulder.

Turning around, I scanned his face to see if he was genuine. "Really?"

He nodded. I tried to remember that he was a stranger, that I didn't even know his name, but all sane thoughts blipped out of my head as soon as I turned around - as soon as my eyes hazardously slid over his frame. I wasn't stealthy in the slightest, and it made Guy Next Door smile.

I wanted to say something like, 'No, I don't want to impose,' or 'Are you sure?' but I was so hungry that I would never allow him to take back his words. Without giving it a second thought, I strode back over to Guy Next Door, and he moved out of the doorway and allowed me into his house.

Given we were living next door, I wasn't surprised to see that his house practically mirrored mine in layout - even though I'd only seen my own fully once, so I could hardly compare. Guy Next Door lead me into the kitchen.

"Help yourself," he said. He motioned to his fridge, but I thought it would be weird if I just started scanning his house for food, so I leant against the worktop.

Raising a challenging eyebrow, Guy Next Door said, "Are you not hungry?"

"I am hungry," I said, "But I'm not scavenging your house for food. It's weird."

"Why? I need to shower and get ready for work, anyways. I'm not making breakfast," he said.

I smiled. "I never asked you to make anything. I bet you couldn't cook even if you tried."

Guy Next Door rose a challenging eyebrow. "I have more experience than you think. I know how to quench hunger."

Desire pooled in the pit of my stomach.

"Really?" I asked, motioning to the hob. "Go ahead. Show me your worth."

"I wasn't talking about that." My half-naked neighbour leant beside me on the work surface, one of his hands dangerously close to my thigh.

Even though I was sure my cheeks were a startling shade of red, I played dumb. "What _were_ you talking about?" I asked innocently.

"Don't act as if I don't have an effect on you," he said.

"Maybe you don't," I shot back, biting my lower lip.

He grinned, and it was nothing but mischievous - a grin that got up to no good. "If I don't have an effect on you," he said, "Kiss me."

"I'd rather not."

"'Fraid you'll fall under the spell of my charm?"

"I don't want herpes," I said back conversationally, deciding to take him up on his previous offer as I prowled his fridge. I may have found it impolite to look through his things before, but now I was biting back my anger. And something that pissed me off even more?

Guy Next Door's fridge was practically empty.

"You think I sleep around a lot? You're quick to make assumptions." I could hear his grin.

"I get snappy when I'm hungry," I said, closing the fridge. The guy didn't even have eggs.

When Guy Next Door said nothing, I turned away from him. "I think I'll try and find a map to the grocery store," I said, moving away from him. "I was serious about being hungry."

"And I was serious about you kissing me," he shot back. "The rest of the neighbours are O-A-Ps who sleep until midmorning."

"So what?"

"They'll be all pissy if you wake them up for directions to the fucking grocery store. How about an exchange?" Guy Next Door said.

"Depends on what the exchange is," I said.

Guy Next Door looked delicious. He was leaning against the worktop still, his bicep tensed under his weight. "A kiss on the lips gives you directions. A kiss with tongue gives you my name."

"What makes you think that I want your name? Or that I'm that desperate to get food?"

"You're the curious type. And you're the one who said that you get reckless when you're hungry."

"I said snappy," I shot back.

"And I bet that you're so pissed at me right now for thinking that you're prude that you'll kiss me."

"You think I'm prude?" I said. This guy knew just how to push all of my buttons, and I was just about ready to claw at his face. Or run my fingers down his abs. Both ideas seemed quite appealing, and I had to shake them out of my head before I actually did one of them.

I took two steps in his direction, ready to slap the smirk off his face, but it was that smirk that urged me to kiss him. So I did.

As soon as our lips met, I found myself sighing. Guy Next Door placed his hands behind my upper thighs, sitting me on the worktop. My hands were behind his neck, knotting into his fingers as I deepened the kiss. Then they dropped and rested in the space between us, running up and down his chest.

He moaned, and I broke the kiss so I could reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head.

His eyes watched the movement and he licked his lips. "You're beautiful." I was thankful to see that I was wearing my black padded bra rather than any of my monkey bras. That would have been embarrassing.

Leaning in, he kissed me again. "My name's Patch," he managed to tease between our kisses.

**A/N: I really enjoyed writing this lol. Anyway, sorry it took quite a bit of time to get here. I had no ideas of what to write, so it took me a while to come up with something. It's annoying because I have about four chapters of this half-written, but it's always really difficult to finish them. **

**I hope you enjoyed! Ausilin xx**


	9. John Rodgers

Number 9 - Soon after Nora had the incident with the Neon

John Rodgers

"Listen up, class. Three days ago a student went missing, a student by the name John Rodgers. He went missing on school premises-" students started to mutter as Coach put his hand up in a motion to silence them "-and the police have searched the area and confirmed that everyone in the building is safe. But if anyone hears from John, then please tell a teacher or call the police or something. Anyone who knows anything about his whereabouts and tells the school gets no homework from me until you graduate." Coach walked around his desk. "Okay, now we've finished with all the admin crap, let's get started with biology."

Of course, at this point nobody was listening to Coach. They all murmured about John - I hadn't known him personally, but he had had a crush on me in eighth grade that I was quick to quash. Maybe rejecting him in front of all of his football buddies was too much. If he was seriously missing, then I would never have the opportunity to apologise to him for that.

"So, what d'you think?" Patch asked from my left. I had taken a strict no-speaking-to-Patch vow after he refused to ask Coach to switch seats and after Vee's car kinda-maybe-got-screwed-but-it-was-really-me-going-crazy. In short, I blamed him. The only correlation I saw was the change in Bio seats.

I could feel the jerkiness radiating from Patch. "Still not talking to me, sweet cheeks?" He said mockingly.

I turned to him. "I'm not talking to you because I wouldn't be surprised if you were the reason John went missing. Not to mention you're a freaky stalker bastard."

"Great. I love being branded as a stalker. And a kidnapper." His lips held the echo if a grin and his eyes were laughing.

"Glad you now understand why I don't talk to you. Now stop talking to me," I snapped, turning to face the front of the class.

One of Patch's fingers skimmed my arm and I had to pull away so I wouldn't shiver. "Now, that's why you're not talking to me. If you admit that you're attracted to me, then I'll never talk to you again."

"I'm not attracted to you," I hissed.

Patch tsked. "You were this close." He held his thumb and his forefinger millimetres apart. "I guess I'll still have to stalk you."

"So you admit you're stalking me?" At this point, Coach had given up on teaching class and had let us talk about the missing student. It seemed that myself and Patch were the only self-centred pair who weren't talking about the possiblities of what happened to John. Hey, being stalked was a serious matter too.

Patch tapped his chin as if considering. "If you're planning on hiding your attraction to me, then I don't see why I should tell you anything."

"Stalking is frowned upon in most societies. Maybe if you give yourself up then you can get some help."

"Do you want to hear my theory?" asked Patch, completely ignoring what I just said.

"I get the feeling that a 'no' wouldn't deter you from telling me," I said, tapping my pen on the table.

"I think the reason why you try to avoid me is because you don't want to like me."

"See, that's a lovely, perceptive opinion. One which is a lie. Just like everything else you've been telling ne, right?"

"If I told you the truth, you wouldn't believe me."

"A question for a question," I suggested. "No backing out. Under any circumstances. And always the truth."

Patch nodded.

"Were you following me when I was driving Vee's car the other day?" I scanned Patch's face and awaited his answer.

"Someone was following you?" He seemed surprised and slightly worried, but I wasn't sure if he was just a good liar.

"Yes," I replied. His face was devoid of emotion once again.

"Are you attracted to me?" He asked. I looked up at the ceiling, avoiding his gaze. I should have known to expect this question.

After a moment if hesitation, I said, "Annoyingly so."

We both sat in silence while I cursed myself for telling the truth; for admitting to him - the person who I trusted the least - that I liked him.

"Do you know where I live?" I asked him after a yawning gape of hush between us.

"No," he said, staring me straight in the eyes as he said it. I believed him. He wasn't watching me through my window.

"Nora," he said in a dangerously low tone, pulling my chair closer to his. His lips were a breath away from my neck as he said, "What do you want me to do?"

Kiss me.

"Ask Coach to switch your seat with Vee's," I said breathlessly, containing my hands as I wasn't sure if they'd push him away or pull him in closer.

Patch tsked. "I thought we had agreed on the truth," he said. His nose skimmed the flesh below my ear and my pulse rocketed.

"W-what if this is the truth?" I asked as one of his hands skimmed my thigh.

Patch's lips were so close to my neck that I could feel him smile. "Then I don't believe you. You want me to kiss you. Your cheeks are this beautiful pink colour and you keep trying to stop yourself from moving closer to me. I can feel you, Angel."

"A-angel?" I stuttered as he gently pressed his lips to my skin. His hand moved higher up my thigh, and I wasn't thinking anything along the lines of 'Oh shit, we're in class and anyone could see us,' but more about the crazy things his hands were doing to me.

I bit into my lower lip.

"Do you want to grab something to eat later?" His lips were still kissing the flesh on my neck and he too was breathless.

I gasped. "Yes," I whispered. "Did you feel the need to seduce me before I would agree to your proposal?"

Patch moved his head from my neck and we finally got some painful distance. His lips bore a smirk. "It worked, right?" he said, and I was pissed at my lack of self control. I shouldn't be kissing guys like Patch - guys who were trouble and nothing less. Guys who I was irrationally blaming for my own ill mentality, for the ski mask guy and for the person watching me though my window.

Finally, Patch asked the last question we shared during the lesson. "Do you regret kissing me?"

"No," I said truthfully. "I don't."

**A/N Hey guys! I just wanted to say thank you for the comments! They are lovely and I really enjoy reading them. Please continue to comment, follow, fave - a new chapter should be on it's way very soon, depending on his temperamental my phone is (it's written on there, which I don't think I'm going to do anymore because my phone just turns off when it gets tired. Kinda annoying).**

**Hope you enjoy this addition!**

**Ausilin xx**


	10. The Shop Assistant

**A/N: This is just a Patch/Nora one shot, it's not set in an AU :)**

Number 9 - The Shop Assistant

"Um," I said. "Is there anyone else I could see?" I asked.

"'Fraid all of the other people are busy. What do you need?"

"I don't think you could help me," I said to the dark and incredibly handsome attendant – aka Patch Cipriano. "I'll just wait until someone's free."

Patch smiled. "Don't worry about it. Just ask," he said.

My cheeks were bright red when I muttered, "I need a bra fitting."

I was hoping that he hadn't heard what I had said, but he grinned. "Of course," he replied. "I'll just get my tape measure."

"What?" I said.

"For the fitting," he explained.

"You're not doing my fitting," I said incredulously.

He rose an eyebrow. "I'm the only person here right now that's qualified," he said.

"I think I might come back later," I said uneasily, about to walk away.

Laughing, Patch said, "Do you really think I would do anything to my flippant Bio partner?"

I bit my lip. "I'm not comfortable with a guy measuring my boobs."

"I'm qualified and I'm pretty sure we're both mature enough to get through a necessity such as a bra fitting," Patch said in monotone. "I can even help you pick pieces from our stock after."

Damn Patch. Damn him, treating this as a joke. Damn him.

I turned to leave the store but his fingers had wrapped themselves around my wrist. "I'm sorry," he said, but he was wearing his Class-A Jerk half-smile. My teeth gritted as I tried to pull myself out of his grasp.

"Let go," I snarled.

He dropped my hand before leaning against one of the racks of clothing. "Help me out here, Nora. I'm trying to keep my job." My eyes went from furious to his face, and he appeared to be sincere.

"What?" I said.

He ran a hand over his jaw. "I'm going to lose my job soon. Unless I'm seen as an asset to the place. My boss' been breathing down my neck recently. Come on." This time he held his hand out. "Help out your bio partner."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm not comfortable with you measuring me. You're a guy. I don't even know how you could have gotten this job."

Then he smirked. The kind of _Do you want to know?_ smirk. Ew.

"But here I am, Nora. And here you are. It's not like we're going to have sex. Unless, of course-"

"It'll be awkward," I said interrupted, not wanting my cheeks to flame brighter. I didn't want him to measure me. I didn't want anyone to see my cup A's (which I was praying had morphed into cup B's). I was sure he had seen bigger. But it wasn't about what he had and hadn't seen for God's sake, I didn't care how many boobs he'd seen. It was weird. He was my bio partner.

Patch had a hidden smile on his lips. "Only if you make it that way."

I was silent.

"Come on, Nora. Help out a friend."

"I'm not your friend," I snapped.

"Course you are. Why else would you spend your time having enlightening conversations with me?"

I gritted my teeth. "You're an arse."

"You make it too easy." Now he had a full-blown smile on his face. "Follow me." It was a challenge, and I couldn't let him win.

"If you just take your top off so you're just in your underwear," he said while I avoided eye contact at all costs. I could hear his grin. "I'll wait outside."

I nodded in affirmation, dropping my bag in the corner of the dressing room. He closed the door behind him and I took a deep breath, taking my button-up off and leaving my camisole behind.

There was a knock on the door. "I'm ready," I said, my back towards the door. I watched his cocky gait through the mirror.

"You can turn around, you know. I'll only bite if you ask."

"I'll never ask," I snapped, turning around to him sliding the tape measure from his neck.

He looked at me as through his lashes as if he knew a secret. "The measurement will be better if you take your vest off," he told me, his hands curling around me as he took the tape measure over the swell of my chest, his pinky grazing the bare skin my camisole was too low to cover. His lips were at my ear as he whispered, "And I'll be able to see where that blush ends."

I wanted to jerk out of his grip, to slap him and report his arse and then _strongly_ insist to Coach that I had to switch Bio seats, but his scent invaded my nostrils and I couldn't move.

His lips grazed the shell of my ear, one of his hands running down my side before residing on my hip, the tape measure fluttering about us. His tongue pressed on the heated flesh below my ear, taking it between his teeth. I couldn't stop the breathy moan that escaped my parted lips.

Lips moving lower, wet kisses, more sighs. His teeth softly sunk into the base of my neck and I tipped my head back, grabbing his shoulder and digging my nails in, unable to stifle my moan.

He pulled away abruptly. "I'm pretty sure I said I'd only bite if you asked," he told me, leaning down to pick up the tape measure, and I could hear the laughter in his words. "My apologies."


	11. In Which Vee Sky Doesn't Save The Day

Number 11 – AU

In Which Vee Sky Doesn't Save The Day

Nora Gray was a perculiar girl. She wrote blogs about being organic, fresh, she tied her shoelaces twice, she listened to classical music but she didn't have any interest in instruments. She tried so hard to be atypical that she soon began to resent herself.

It didn't take long for her to do so. Straight out of high school with the astonishing grades that shouldn't have really mattered to her, all things considering, and in a university that had high student satisfaction but was really for dumbfucks – but that shouldn't have mattered either. The thing about being fresh, organic, was that you valued your body and the environment rather than how things tasted.

So after exactly twenty-three weeks in a dead-end university, Nora was done. The white noise of her peers drilled holes through her head. She was pretentious, she suffered badly from the ailment of inverted snobbery, she was unhappy. Her skin was cracked with the effort it took for her to drag herself through her day-to-day business.

The therapist, dressed like a student but with the deep wrinkles of a naked mole rat, patted her knee and slapped her with the diagnosis of depression. She slipped a yellow pamphlet into her fingers and rushed her out the door.

Nora Gray was dissatisfied. She knew that. She was lonely and one of her roommates enjoyed walking around the house in boxers, even though public nudity was illegal. He fried his food in butter with no regard for the sat fats or the risk of heart disease. He watched _The Jeremy Kyle Show_ way too loudly and left cutlery around the flat.

When Vee Sky visited, Nora was in her room reading an article about the application of recrational drugs as a legitimate alternative to medication. Vee picket up the yellow pamphlet from the table and the words danced across her eyes – _depression _and _sadness _and _irritability_ and _depressiondepressiondepression_.

Vee Sky soon left and Nora was on her own again. She scrubbed the tears off her cheeks and refocused on the article. _Though recreational drugs are frowned upon it is not alien for medication to be useless in some circumstances. While doctors and nurses are bound to the patient by a duty of care-_

Nora turned her head when there was a knock at the door. After five seconds there was another knock in a set of three – _bum bum bum. _

She pushed out of the office chair, the wheels finding traction on the plush carpet. Her fingers wrapped around the door handle and she was face-to-face with the only other person in the house, donned in grey boxers.

His voice was deep. _Sounded rough,_ he said, which was stupid coming from him because nothing sounded rougher than his voice. Perhaps he was taking recreational drugs.

He pressed a warm mug of camomile tea into her hands. _One of your organic brands,_ he said, and rather than being annoyed that someone was pawing through her cupboards, Nora took a measured sip.

"Thanks, Patch."

**A/N: By far my favourite. Kind of my attempt at flash fiction.**


	12. Secret Valentine Pt2

Number 12, continuation of Number 2

I sipped at my chocolate Oreo shake, using the straw to stir the drink. Enzo's was decorated in the most ludicrous manner – someone had taken the effort to sprinkle each table with little pink love heart cut-outs, the straws were pink, the table cloths and napkins were pink, and I was pretty sure that Patch thought I'd bought him here for the romance factor. No, Patch Cipriano. I did not plan on starting something with you. I just wanted some half-price milkshakes. Unfortunately, now I felt awfully embarrassed, which wasn't aided by the shadow of a smirk my bio partner was donning.

The worst part was? Some sick Valentine's special meant that the milkshakes _weren't even half price. _I stabbed the damn drink with the straw, wishing I was impaling myself rather than the beautiful concoction before me.

Patch placed his gift on the table. It was covered with a brown paper bag.

"Open it," he urged.

I took a moment to stare at it, his smirk in my periphery. He seemed so proud of himself. I idly focused on the bag, stabbing my shake once more. Patch rose a cool eyebrow, his lips forming a smirk. When he saw that I made no move to take it, he gave me a questioning look.

I cleared my throat, embarrassed. "I bought you a…rubbish gift. I would feel really bad if yours was amazing and then you had to open mine."

Patch leant back in his chair, baseball cap covering the lower half of his face. "Take your time, Angel. The longer you spend staring at the gift, the longer my date with you is." Laughter tained his words like a parasite. He really ticked me off.

In my moment of deliberation he leant forward, my heart rate picking up a notch when I thought he was going to grab my hand - but instead he took my shake, slouching back on the chair and taking a long sip.

I suddenly lost every gram of guilt that I had. I couldn't feel bad opening his gift seeing as he had just stolen my drink.

Grabbing the brown bag, I peered into it. Inside lay a black gift box – or rather, a gift rectangle.

I pulled out the black box and stared at it for a moment, sneaking a look at Patch from between my lashes and feeling suddenly shy when he returned my stare with something more captivating than the sunset, something more exhilirating than acing a test. He took another sip of my drink, his fingers tapping on the side of the plastic in what I could only assume was impatience.

Furtively, I opened the box.

"I can't take this."

"Well what am I supposed to do with it?" He asked, giving me one of his secret smiles, as if he expected my answer.

"It must have been expensive."

"That doesn't matter," he said. "Do you what help putting it on?" Before waiting for my answer he stood up, moving around the table, his fingers gently swiping my hair off one of my shoulders, resting for a beat longer than necessary. My cheeks flushed.

I unclapsed the necklace from the box. A long golden chain held a wire-wrapped pearl, the blue hue radiating on its surface. "Here you go," I murmured, handing it to him. Patch took it, his fingers brushing mine accidentally. I bit my lower lip. I felt the pearl fall into the valley between my breasts, right above my heart.

"Thank you," I whispered when Patch moved to sit down. He took my drink again, his eyes moving towards the end of the chain and coincidentally towards my boobs.

He nodded. "It looks good on you," he said. His eyes met mine and I was struxk with the desire to kiss him – hopefully until he forgot that I had a gift to give him, too.

"I feel so bad now," I said, my cheeks still heated. My left hand played with the pearl.

He smirked. "Don't worry. You owe me. I'll collect sometime soon." The words shocked me with satisfying chills, and my mind moved straight to the gutter when I thought of how he would _collect_. I cleared my throat.

Patch leaned forward, hand on his palm in what I could only register as mocking. "I'm curious. What did you buy me?"

"I think I just need to remind you that you didn't give me much to work on."

Patch rose an eyebrow. "I was looking forward to some fluffy socks."

I tried to deflect the attention from myself, gripping at straws and kind of asking him a question that had been eating at me ever since I had opened the box. "So would you have given this necklace to any girl you'd gotten?"

His eyes were the night sky. "I knew I had you."

I couldn't contain my shiver. "Okay." My eyes fell to my hands and I fiddled with my rings.

"Look up at me, Angel."

"Angel?" I asked incredulously, instantly drawing my attention. My eyebrows arched high on my forehead, eyes slicing to his.

Patch gave me a proper smile. "You don't like it?"

"I don't do pet names."

"Come on, babe. It's not that big of a deal."

"I'm leaving," I announced, picking up my bag before standing up. "Thanks for everything, Patch." (Please forget about the gift – please).

"Don't be like that," Patch said, but he still wore a smirk. When I ignored him, turning towards the doors, he tried a different tactic. "At least let me give you a ride home."

I faced him. "And if I let you give me a ride home, will you still call me…_that_?"

"Of course."

"Hmm...tempting," I said, tapping my chin and pretending to consider. The truth that we both knew was that the issue wasn't the pet name. The issue was me becoming too attached to Patch when the only thing my instinct was telling me to do was get away. I still didn't trust Patch – logic kept on slapping me in the face with the cool reminder of Vee's broken arm _and _the ski-mask dude who had pulled off the Neon's door, both of which seemed to be Patch, both of which happened after I met him.

Patch stood up. "Don't worry. I'll treat you well." He came up beside me. "How does dinner sound?"

"What will we be getting?"

"I know this great pizza place." The best way to know if he was the culprit was to get to know him better, right?

"I think I could deal with that," I said after he mentioned my favourite food, hestitant a slight step forward. I moved to kiss his cheek in a friendly manner. I hadn't been too grateful of his gift.

Patch must have been shocked by my approach, as he turned his head and ended up meeting my lips. This was the perfect excuse for me to kiss him – my head was screaming at me to stop, that I didn't know Patch and about how scared I was of the person in the ski mask – but my lips were kissing him back, my feet pressing me onto the tips of my toes so I could get closer to him. His hands rested at my hips, thumbs moving in circles, driving me so crazy, and my fingers ran through his hair, knocking off the baseball cap. It fell on the floor somewhere and we both ignored it, Patch pressing me backwards into the small coffee table and I moved to sit onto it. There weren't many other people in the shop due to the time of day, which I was thankful for, and even though PDA was not really my style, when it came to Patch, no was _not_ a word in my vocabulary.

His mouth was sweet from the Oreo shake, his lips well-practised. I couldn't help but kiss him harder, moans pressed between our lips, our secret, _us_.

I moved away, catching my breath. Patch stared at me, his lips twisted in a nearly-there smile.

"Never thought you would make the first move, Angel."

"I'm just that unpredicatable," I said sarcastically, trying to cover for my embarrassment. Patch ignored me, lips brushing against my jaw, my cheeks, my eyelids – everywhere. My body melted into his like wax, fingers digging into his shoulders. He began to kiss up my neck, hot kisses that were sure to leave a trail of hickeys behind. I couldn't help it when my head tipped back to give him more access. Biting down on my lower lip to hold back moans, I ran my hand on his chest, resting my palm on his heart. I was glad to feel that it was thrumming as wildly as mine was.

He suddenly took a step back and leant over to grab his cap, and I took it as a moment to catch my breath and flatten my hair. He turned back, pulling his cap over his eyes, leaving only his lips – the lips I'd just kissed – visible. I was sure my cheeks were a flaming red colour again as I took his hand and let him pull me out of the quiet coffee shop.

**A/N requests are open + I need new material!**


	13. A Meeting In a Morgue

Number 13, AU

A Meeting in a Morgue

When Nora woke up, she was very confused.

Well, that was a rather inaccurate statement. She started off kind of tired, then as her senses came to her, she got a little bit bitchy, and then the confusion came.

How can someone who was dead suddenly just wake up?

They can't, Nora considered logically. So the simplest answer was that Nora wasn't dead.

Her eyes were yet to adjust to the darkness of her room. She stretched.

There was an odd phonomenon. When Nora's arms crossed the boundary approximately fifteen centimetres off her face, they met similar resistance to if they were pressing through mud. Nora pulled her arms back in shock, and then tried again.

What was surrounding her?

Curiousity killed the cat, but cats had nine lives (eight in Nora's case, who somehow wasn't dead even though she remembered dying), and Nora was willing to risk one of them. With that thought, she stood up.

Ribcage upward, her body had an odd tingling sensation. And holy fuck – her eyes – she was staring at another person, but her neck had somehow kebabed their body. She had somehow stuck her head through someone else.

She panicked, but there were no symptoms. You can't have a panic attack if you aren't bloody breathing.

Nora lay back down with a fright, screwing her eyes shut and trying to erase the image of another person's torso wrapped around her neck, and the comforting yet uncomfortable warmth it gave her. She was going crazy. This must have been a dream.

During her prayers to God – please let me wake up, please I beg you – there was a confident knocking sound. Each rap was sharp and loud, as if it had been made right beside her ear with the intention to frighten her. Nora tried to take a deep breath – she couldn't – and waited to see what would happen.

The knocking sounded again. "I'm trying to be polite," a voice said (her hearing was amazing, and everything sounded much clearer than it ever had), "But I'm losing my patience. Come on out."

Come on out? How? Where? But the voice was so compelling, and Nora found herself shuffling in the direction her feet were laying (towards the voice). Little by little her whole body felt the mud-like resistance, but only a strip at a time. And then she was on the floor.

In front of her was a man dressed in full black, head-to-toe. His dark combat boots were of worn leather, well used and probably deadly; his jeans were defaced with stylish rips at the knees and lower thighs; his shirt was a tight, long-sleeved v-neck. The only thing out of the scheme was his navy baseball cap, which at first glance was dark enough to appear black also.

"Have a fun time in there?" he asked, uncrossing his arms to jab a thumb in the direction of where she'd come.

Nora's eyes followed the man's thumb towards a grey door – a metal door, a metal door from one of those body fridges.

"What?"

"I said, _did you have a fun time in there_?" he smirked as if he had just heard a joke.

Nora licked her lips. "Where is 'there'?"

He bit his lower lip, containing a chuckle. "Oh, Angel. I thought you'd figured it out by now."

Her attire was white. She guessed she did look like an angel.

"A morgue," she said. Her eyes were listlessly scanning the fridges. "I'm dead."

The man clapped his hands slowly and sarcastically. The noise overwhelmed the room, creeping into each of the four corners and crouching there, the only spectator. Nora flinched as if she'd been physically hit, as if each of the claps were a slap to the face – the sound was loud enough to feel like one.

"Right you are," he said with a faux cheeriness. "I'm dead, too."

"W-what are we doing? Here?"

"Well, Angel. I've come to collect you."

"And where are we going?"

The man took slow steps towards her. Perhaps he was trying not to scare her, but he gave her too much time to think about his actions.

His fingers brushed a lock of hair from her face. She felt a similar comforting warmth as to when her neck skewered that lady – but this time, it fizzled through her whole body, earthing at her feet, exciting every particle of her being.

"Tell me, Nora. Have you ever heard of a soul mate?"

"Soul mate?" she said dumbly, still focused on the shivers his touch left behind.

He gave her a small, affectionate smile. "Yes, Nora."

"Some-some people think their, um…" Nora gulped. "What's this about?"

"Angel, this is about me and you. This is about two soul mates meeting."

"What?" Nora was sure she had just met a psychopath. She was hallucinating under heavy drugs in the hospital.

His hands were in his jean pockets. "I died before you were born," he explained smoothly, "But our souls are bound. You're my soul, and I'm yours."

"My soul?"

"All we have left when we're dead."

Nora remained silent.

"I know you believe me," the man said. "You're trying to some up with logical explainations, but you can't stop thinking of how you felt when I touched you." He lips curled in a knowing smirk. "It felt like you were finally home. It felt warm.

"And if you're still confused, tell me Nora: how exactly did you manage to crawl through a metal container? I'm sure that the living can't do that."

"I…"

"I've got you," he said gently when he sensed her panic, easily taking his hands out of his pockets. "I know you're scared, but I won't let anything happen to you. Come on, Angel."

He held his right hand out to her.

"W-where? Where do you want me to do?"

The man clicked the fingers of his left hand. The area roughly a metre behind him stared to ebb – the distinct lines of the tiles and walls quivered, as if there was a body of water in front of them, distorting their appearance.

There, Nora thought. She felt a strong tug towards the distorted area. She had to walk through it. She had to.

Nora took the man's outstretched hand, and both of them sighed in unison. Their bodies visibly relaxed, and Nora couldn't stop herself from falling onto him. That warmth she felt when he skimmed her face pressed onto her like a weighted blanket - her negative thoughts and energy, all of her doubts, her fright towards the stranger – they all slid through her body and through her feet as the warm sensation carried them all away, replacing them with pure satisfaction.

The man ran his fingers through her hair. "Are you ready, Angel?"

She nodded, pulled away from him, and let him lead her into the unknown.

**A/N: Thank you hope79 for the fab ghost idea! (I hope I did it justice!) I actually loved playing with this - it's different from what I usually write. Roll on the next great ideas, guys x**


	14. Seven Minutes

Number 14, AU

Seven Minutes

Nora's father always told her that the best part of life was the journey, but she was starting to think a little differently.

Picture this: Nora Gray, fifteen years old, comes home to the news that daddy was dead after Uncle Barney pulled a knife out during an argument with his son, three caravans down. Nora had accepted that her father had a hero complex after he got involved in the fight. He never knew how to stay out of them, anyway.

Of course, the death of her father meant that the caravan had one less person to use the hot water, but it also meant that there was one less person to man the game stand that her family owned. Which was pretty okay, had it not meant that daddy's replacement was Patch Cipriano who - amongst being devillishly handsome and mysterious - was unpunctual and irritating. Sure; his pretty face had girls flocking, and his arsehole attitude did little to deter them, but the number of times Nora had to cover for him because of his insolence was terribly frustrating.

It was difficult to get angry at anyone in the caravan complex. It was like getting angry at your family – these were people who you had lived with for your whole life. And the anger was tiring (grudges lived a long life in these parts).

Naturally, there was a time when everyone cracked. This happened to Nora the night before her Chemistry exam, when her mother stumbled into the caravan (tired after a long time manning the stand), apologising and explaining she simply couldn't find Patch and she was sure she would have collapsed if she had to stay out there any longer. Darcy was holding down the fort for an hour – just enough time to find Patch, Nora's mother reasoned to her before nodding off.

Nora was fuming. Her heart rate spiked and her pen snapped, leaking ink all over her hand, which she didn't bother to wipe off. She would kill Patch. Kill him. And then he would sit down and help her study for her acids and bases test while manning the stand and finally, he would buy her cake after all her troubles. She would scare him so much that he wouldn't dare to miss another day of work. He. Wouldn't. Dare.

What did he take himself as for, anyway? Did he think that he could just float by without investing his efforts into work? He was an arsehole. Nora was going to teach him a lesson that would benefit the whole of mankind.

Pulling on a pair of boots and a random jacket that wasn't even hers, Nora stormed out into the mud outside her home. She was still forcing her arm through the sleeve hole as she trudged through the mud, her feet slipping in the unlaced boots. He was so dead.

Upon reaching his caravan, Nora knocked on his door hard enough to bruise her knuckles. "Patch, I swear to God I'll pin your balls to my mantlepiece if you don't open up!" She followed this up with another round of knocks.

Nora wasn't sure if he was in there. She didn't care. She needed to get her anger out, or she would explode in a bitch fit. Or maybe she already had?

"I know you can hear me, you smarmy bastard! If you don't open the bloody door in the next two seconds, I'll bleed you dry and sell you off to a glue factory!"

Nora kicked the door in her fury, and tugged at the handle.

The door slid open.

This was very uncommon. Even though they were a tight-knit community, practically anything had access to the homes. If nobody was in them, they would stay locked to prevent animals or theives entering.

Angst pumped through Nora's blood. Her heart rate dropped in dread.

Something had gone wrong.

She pushed the door open and met no resistance. This was Patch's caravan, she was sure. Nobody else lived there. He had joined the group a handful of years ago on his own and his past life had remained a mystery.

Nora stepped into the home. The lights were on. Her boots were loud on the plastic flooring.

Slow steps lead Nora into the home. She reached the only separate room – the bedroom – and pushed it open.

On it lay a sleeping Patch.

Nora allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. She walked up to Patch, swallowing the foreboding feeling and shaking his shoulder.

"Patch, wake up. We need you at work."

Nora shook his shoulder harder, but he was unresponsive. Her fingers slid under the covers to feel his unnaturally cool skin against her own.

"Damn."

Nora pushed the covers off Patch's shoulders in a hurry, exposing his torso and the warm blood he was laying in.

Patch Cipriano was announced dead at approximately ten thirty that night.

If only Nora had been seven minutes earlier.

**A/N: A little different to what I usually do! Hope you enjoyed x**


	15. John Lennon T-shirt

Number 15 - AU

John Lennon T-shirt (Patch's POV)

I'm in the middle of a car chase, and I have no idea how far behind me they are.

To be more accurate, they're in the car and I'm on my bike – something I'm grateful for because bikes are agile and cars are bulky.

A thin layer of sweat grows on my skin. I'm not used to having no control. I should be the one doing the chasing. I'm not the prey.

Where the fuck is Rixon? He should be backing me up. I drive the bike one-handed, pulling my phone out of my pocket and speed-dialling Rixon. I swerve out of the way of a lorry. I'm far enough that when it falls, I'm not deep in wreckage.

Rixon doesn't answer. Little fuck. The only excuse he has is if he's tied up. Not dominatrix-style.

My ears perk. The wind rushes past me, distracting my hearing, but I can practically _feel _the rubber of speeding tyres marking the road; I can feel the tyres vibrating through the concrete – it ignites the blood in my veins, consumes me with adreniline. They just got caught in the building traffic from the lorry accident.

The Nephils are not too far away from me, and I need to think of a quick escape. No Fallen would be happy with my sudden arrival and dangerous guests. I'm not too happy with my dangerous guests. I knew this day was going to be shitty.

I can't think of anything to do aside from waiting for them to catch up with me, so I unnoticably slow my bike down and continue to weave through the oncoming traffic. Humans eye me with incredulation. I'm tempted to flip them off. Why should I abide by human traffic laws when I'm not human?

Which is a shame. For them and their traffic problems, but also for me and my archangel problems.

One of the cars is rolling up towards me on my right. It's white, and the windows are tinted the same grey of weathered metal.

The driver maintains a steady hand while the Nephil in the passenger seat opens fire upon me (they seem to forget that bullets do nothing to slow me down).

Another car emerges to my left. I'm between them both, speeding down the emptying motorway, zig-zagging and slowing down at intervals to dodge bullets – I take a moment to consider whether the police have closed the roads down because of 'dangerous, armed activity' or if I am just very unlucky – when one of them pops my front tyre.

It's not the first time a bike has gone down on me, but this one's been with me for a while. Oh, these bitches just had to piss me off. I clench my teeth.

The bike skids uncontrollably for another fifteen or so meters, and I take the chance to roll off it and onto the floor. I can't feel anything physically, but the blood roars in my head so loudly that it almost causes me pain.

I'm so pissed.

The cars don't stop. We had practically been parrallel before my fall, but the white one swerves and the tyres roll over my chest. It compresses me onto the ground and I can't move.

When I stand, the car is speckled with enough blood to cause a fuss during cleaning. The car comes for me again, but this time I'm ready for it and jump onto the hood.

I extract a knife and start to impale it into the window.

The first few hits prove fruitless: the window is clearly bulletproof. Five hits in and the window has shattered – another hit and I'm reaching for the gunman, propelling us both out of the car. We hit the tarmac on his back, and I can feel his body take the impact like a grade-A airbag. My knife slashes and just as I'm about to rip his heart out (my hand had already clawed its way into his chest), someone reaches for me from behind – I sense it before I feel it – and I find myself between five Nephils.

One places his gun to my head and I laugh.

I can't stop laughing.

They don't seem to like that. The gunman moves closer to me, wincing over his wound – _what a pussy – _and I find that a satisfied smirk has glued itself on my face.

"You're cute. Thinking only five of you can take me out."

The Nephils share a look. The shrill noise of the human law enforcement breaks them apart.

"Next time," the gunman wheezes, "I swear to God I'll make sure you end up in Hell."

And they walk away. Just like that.

It's funny how they are slaves to the human society. Humans are weak. Weaker than Nephils – yet the Nephils bow down to them.

Logic I would never understand.

The cars screech as they drive away – the white car leave nice red tracks that I'll be following them with later.

I look down at my chest and inspect the damage. The screaming of the cars grows louder.

Things are broken, I'm sure. I don't know where Rixon is, and I'm sure I would not be able to fix this myself.

"Sir!" A uniformed human shouts. "Sir! Are you okay?"

The female human runs to me. The letters on her clothes read PARAMEDIC. It takes me a moment to realise that she is asking me – it is easy to forget that humans are scared by a little red.

"Yes," I tell her. She is followed by two other uniformed humans, but I cannot tear my eyes from her unparalleled beauty.

I think I'm in a state of shock. This is the first human I have found stunningly beautiful. I haven't seen anything this pretty since before I fell.

She asks me to lay down. "Can you tell me your name?"

"And my number," I tell her.

Her fingers scramble over my chest. They press down on my wound and I remember that I should gasp in pain.

"I'm Nora Gray. Who are you?"

"Patch."

A human in clothes that match hers starts to lay out a stretcher. "We're going to take you to the hospital, okay?" the beautiful Nora Grey tells me. Her eyes (which I am yet to look into) drink in the sight of my collapsed chest. I guess humans find this thing scary.

It's not like I'm going to disagree with her, anyway. And even if I could, I have found out with my years on Earth that humans (especially the uniformed ones) have a superiority complex. I am pretty sure that a human with injuries like mine would find it difficult to talk, so maybe Nora Grey is confused.

The humans slide me onto a stretcher and fix a neckbrace in place.

...

I am in an ambulance. I have never been in one of these before, so I take a moment to look around and observe my surroundings.

A human fixes an oxygen mask onto my face, and air starts to taste sterile. He checks my heartbeat and shuffles around for a bit.

My eyes zone in on the door. I think Nora Grey sees my movements. She nods in my direction, putting her attention back onto the clipboard resting on her legs.

She starts to speak in a loud voice to the humans in the van. "Guys," she says. She is clearly the leader of this group of humans.

The humans make noises of affirmation before she continues.

"We are going to stop at Patch's house, and I'll fix him up there, okay?"

The man who was just adjusting my mask stops for a moment. "Are you sure?"

Nora Grey nods. "Very."

She moves forward to take my mask off, and proceeds to ask me my address.

"I can't tell you." No matter now beautiful you are.

She nods. "Let's stop at my house, then."

...

Her group must be used to these kinds of requests, because they ask no more questions. I'm in Nora Grey's apartment with three other humans – one of them is the driver – when she leans forward with a pair of scissors (presumably to cut my shirt off).

I put a hand over hers to stop her. "What are you doing?"

"You may be immortal, but that's not going to heal by itself."

I stare at her. "Alright, sweetheart. What exactly do you think I am?"

"I'm thinking fallen angel."

I drop her hand. She leans towards me with the scissors again, but I shrug my shirt off before she can hack it away.

"Am I right?" she asks, rolling gloves on. She grabs a metal butterknife and starts prodding my bones back into place.

When I don't answer, her beautiful grey eyes hit mine. "I think I must be," she says. "You aren't showing any pain."

I allow her to continue prodding - her movements gory yet intimate - as I pull my phone out of my pocket again to text Rixon.

It's like a parallel universe. I'm in the house of a beautiful human, someone who knows about fallen angels, and she isn't running away. Neither are the rest of her group. I consider their stupidity. I could easily decorate the walls with their blood and the halls with their screams.

I know her address. I eye the unperturbed red head as she leans over my body.

She pulls a needle out to stitch the areas she had to cut open to access bones easily. I watch her hands as she stitches my body back together with long, languid strokes, and consider how many times she had done this before. How many other Fallens had she invited into her home? Is she at a risk of any of them coming after her?

She wraps me up in gauze and claps my chest when I'm finished, as if she's just checking whether or not I feel pain. "All done. You're good to go."

I sit up and pull my shirt back over my shoulders. It's saturated in blood, dry and crispy from sitting on the floor for the best part of an hour. There's a huge rip in it, which just reminds me of my disguarded bike and the stupid Nephils.

Her group had wandered into the kitchen area during the 'procedure'. We are alone in the living room.

"Do you usually invite strange men to your house to fondle their chests?"

She snorts. "Usually they leave before I fix them up."

Well, they were clearly missing out.

We both sit in a relative silence until I stand up. "Thanks," I tell her. "I owe you."

She raises a pretty brow. "And what exactly do you owe me?"

At that, I smirk. "I dunno," I tell her. "Probably a coffee."

"Ah," she says, playing along, a small smile on her rose petal lips. "You're probably right. Maybe we should hit Enzo's."

"At around three tomorrow."

She laughs, her smile widening. "Sounds good, Patch. Sounds great."

I leave the apartment complex, thinking that – well, even though my favourite bike had been ruined, and my signed shirt from John Lennon was in tatters – at least I have a date with the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen.

**A/N: thanks to hope79 for the feedback! You're so cute x**

**Hope you guys like this chapter (it was so different to write in Patch's POV)! Give me more prompts for quicker updates :)**

**Ausilin xx**


	16. The Hill

Number 16 - AU

The Hill

The hill was where it all began. The hill is where it all ends.

…

The sun was high in the sky when I lay on the picnic blanket. Patch and I were meeting on St Judith's hill – one of our many secret places – and I was so excited. Seeing him, especially now – it made my heart beat wildly. We had a secret, and it was the most beautiful secret I'd ever kept.

I had waited not even five minutes when he arrived (I watched his ascent up the hill, my chest growing lighter and lighter the closer he came). He gave me a peck on the cheek and placed his rucksack down between us.

Before opening the bag he reached into his pocket to pull out two ring boxes. He placed them on his bag, as if it were a stand, and opened them both to face me.

"Picked them up earlier today," he said. "What do you think?"

What I thought? I thought my dream was coming true. Here I was, sitting in front of the man I was planning on marrying, staring at the two most beautiful rings that ever existed. His simple gold band, my simple gold band; the rings he had bought with his extra shifts at Murphy's Cars – the rings he bought with his hard work.

"I love them."

…

I was sitting on the couch at home with my family. My father sat in the lone armchair in the corner, sifting through his letters, while my mother and I shared the sofa.

"Can you believe this?" Dad said, reading the address on an envelope. "Lyra's sent me another bloody letter."

We all knew the story of Aunt Lyra. She was my father's ignored, _disgraceful_ sister who had ran away from Ashcroft to move to London with her boyfriend. She indulged in the lot; smoking, partying, promiscuity.

She hadn't had communication with her family for years – and these infrequent letters were more proof that she was still alive than anything else. They all shared the same fate: the fireplace.

"I'm sorry to say this Harrison, but she was always a tart. Remember the day she left? Your mother was so upset."

I turned the page of my book, clearly listening but attempting to conceal my intrigue. Only at rare moments would Mum and Dad talk openly about Aunt Lyra.

Dad sighed. "Yes. Thankfully our Nora won't turn out that way. Mother told me that Lyra had gotten pregnant out of wedlock."

"It's disgusting," my Mum said. "Absolutely disgraceful."

Suddenly, I couldn't stay in the room any longer. I slipped out without a sound, closing the door behind me with a deep breath.

…

Vee and I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I didn't bother being secretive: my parents were out grocery shopping.

"So, you're planning to leave?" she asked me, tone quiet yet clearly betrayed.

"Yeah," I told her. "Me and Patch."

I could hear the crinkle of a wrapper as Vee reached for another Malteser. Her voice was muffled as she spoke around one. "Any reason why? I mean, if it's about being with Patch or whatever, you could always marry him. I don't think your parents would care, as long as you're married."

"I've thought about that, and if we did it properly – if we did it here – well, there's no way my dad would give his blessing for me to marry a mechanic. And anyway…it's not just the marriage thing."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," I told her. "I'm pregnant."

There was a slight pause until I heard crinkling again. I turned to see Vee concentrating on the ceiling, enough Maltesers in her mouth to make it appear bloated as tears dripped down onto one of my pillows. The sound of her sobs were muffled by chocolate.

"Oh, Vee," I murmured, feeling myself choking up. I turned and wrapped my arm around her waist, and she pressed her face into my chest.

"I'm just going to miss you so much," she said messily around the chocolate. "I'm going to miss you so much."

…

It must have been her. She told them.

…

I sat in my garden, sipping a cherry Coke and nibbing on a biscuit. The sun was setting and a firey orange hugged the garden gnomes.

My parents were still out, and I was enjoying the quiet time. Cool Coke, buttery biscuits – it was a dream.

I sighed in contentment. I was so happy to be leaving soon (perhaps because the town was so static) – but I would miss them all. Vee, my parents, my neighbours, my family – but it wasn't just me anymore. I couldn't stay here if I wanted to be with Patch. I couldn't stay here without getting an abortion.

Was what we were doing _running away?_ Were we running away from our problems? Sometimes, it felt like we were. Why couldn't I just sit my parents down; take each of their hand in mine, explain to them my relationship with Patch, tell them I was pregnant – tell them that I intended to marry him?

But the end of each of those scenarios was sour. They would shout me down, they would force me to get rid of the baby, they would throw me out, they would go after Patch. I couldn't let anything happen to him or the baby.

There was a heavy knock on the door. I moved out of the lawn chair, palm pressing on my abdomen instinctively (though I was showing so little that it was if I had gained some weight through inactivity). I strolled back into the house and answered the front door.

"Oh, hi Baruch." Then my eyes fell to the people behind him – Scott, Angelo, Jayden, Oliver, Jude, Rixon. Bloody hell – it was like they'd brought all of their buds. There was a niggling sense that _somethingwaswrong-somethingwaswrong-somethingwaswrong. _

He leant on the doorframe, his shoulder wedging it open so I couldn't close it if I wanted to. "Hey, Nora," he said easily.

I gulped, eyes touching upon each of them before I looked back at Baruch. "You alright?"

He pushed himself up into a standing position, stepping into my house after pressing me back. "Let's cut to the chase, yeah Nora? You're a smart girl. I'm sure you don't need people wasting your time."

I was still gripping the doorhandle, and he was so close – my eyes were level with his collarbones. I was uncomfortable with the lack of space, but I was more uncomfortable with him being in my home – which was weird, because I had know him and the rest of the guys for my whole life.

"You know, it's rude not to invite guests in. But that's okay." His lips curled into a sickly sweet smile. "Can you keep a secret, Nora?" he said in a mockingly light voice. "Can you keep a secret?"

"I-I'm no g-good with s-secrets," I told him.

"Oh," he said in a tone that I guess was supposed to sound sad. "Can I show you something instead then, Nora?"

The way he kept on saying my name, as if it was the punchline of a joke – _bloody hell what does he know?_ All of my recent recent secrets popped to mind. But he couldn't know them – _how could he know them?_

"I h-haven't told m-my parents I'm g-going out. M-maybe next time?" I couldn't even find it in me to be self concious about my stutter – I was petrified. And Baruch seemed to be leeching off it (the bloody maggot).

"It'll be between you and me, yeah?" He said, pressing a finger to his lips. "A secret." With a tilt to the corner of his lips he grabbed my wrist, pulling me onto the gravel outside shoeless – and that was when I knew he meant business.

"Stop – Baruch, _stop!"_

He turned on my, suddenly yet expectedly aggressive. "I don't want to hear my name from your filthy mouth again. You hear me, whore? I know everything in this town." He shook me. "You say another word and I'll hit you up so hard your baby'll pop out."

I think it was shock that kept me silent. I couldn't resist him after that.

…

We are at St Judith's hill. The sun has dropped just below the horizon.

My face is numb to the first hit. The second, the third. The fourth hit I receive curled on the ground.

"Stop," I whisper, too low for anyone to hear me. The night air responds with a gentle caress.

My arms are over my head. My knees are pressed to my chest. I can't protect myself. I can't protect my baby.

"Patch!" I cry.

Someone pulls me up by my hair. By this point, I am spitting blood.

It's Rixon. "I'm not letting you ruin him," he seethes. "You've already used your witchcraft on him. You fucking whore." His fist lands on my nose, and a blinding pain makes me see double. Taste; blood. Feel; pain.

I'm paralysed. "I'm sorry," I try to say, but I don't think they hear me through the thundering of their fists and feet.

"Please stop," I beg. I would do anything. Stop.

The pain.

"I'll leave," I say through blood. I can't breathe. "I'll leave."

There's a fire in my chest. My limbs ache. My heart throbs, and it's so painful.

I can't feel my fingers, toes. Hands, feet. Arms. Legs.

My reality drops.

**A/N: so, this is a teeny bit inspired by Take Me To Church by Hozier! (The video)**

**I'm terrible at doing sad scenes (as you can probably tell). Anyways, hope you enjoyed!**

**Ausilin x**


	17. Bonnie and Clyde

Number 17 - AU

Bonnie and Clyde

"Mint gum? You bitches are so bloody basic," Nora snapped, picking her way through the rack of chewing gum. "Where the fuck's that cherry stuff that's going round? Huh?"

The cashier trembled, arms by his shoulders in a surrenduering position. His eyes were zoned in on the gun Nora had disguarded on the counter and he gulped.

"Did you not see my lips move?" Nora snapped.

Patch came from behind the main sales counter, gun strap crossed over his chest and a bulging half-rucksack strapped to his back. "Stop harrassing him, babe. Come on, I've got some in the car." He motioned towards the door.

Nora picked up her gun and the cashier's eyes followed it. "Remember, snitches get stitches." She flicked the safety off, pointing the gun at the man and tilting her head to the side. "You'll stay quiet, right honey?"

Patch placed a hand on Nora's begrudging shoulder and steered her out of the petrol station. "Thanks, dude," he said over his shoulder, and the door dinged merrily as the pair made their way out of the shop.

…

Guns were tucked back under the mattress, money in the safe. The small apartment sung in cool grey and black tones, walls bare, curtains closed indefinitely.

He pressed his lips to Nora's, and she moaned. She pulled off her strappy black shirt, revealing a hot pink bra and smooth torso.

Patch grinned, running his hands up and down her back. One hand worked on her hair tie as the other fiddled with the bra strap, pulling it off her arms as if it was ingrained in his muscle memory.

Her beautiful icy eyes focused on his angled face – he was too focused on her chest to notice.

Nora would do anything for him. She would kill for him, she would die for him. She lived for him.

"I love you," she said.

He nodded. He didn't say it back. He never said it back.

…

Fascination was all Nora felt when she watched the news that night.

"You were the one who came in contact with the two thieves?" The interviewer said.

"Y-Yes," the man stuttered, perhaps thinking of Nora's threatening threat, perhaps shaken – hopefully shaken.

"Can you describe them to us?" she asked with a soothing patience while the man's eyes flickered nervously between the mic and the screen.

"There-there was a girl – maybe late teens? Early twenties, um – red curly hair, slim…" he took a deep breath while the interviewer urged him to continue, "And a guy – he-he was maybe a little older, um…black hair – a-around six f-oot, m-maybe?"

The interviewer kept on questioning his encounter with the two theives.

_"_They reminded me of Bonnie and Clyde_," _he said as a parting remark. "_Their clothes appeared to be expensive enough for them to just be commiting the crime for a rush_."

…

Nora never questioned why she had gotten into petty crime.

But as she looked towards Patch that night - who was stirring something in a pan, attention on something insignificant and unnoteworthy, apron strapped to his hips, brows furrowed, looking stunningly beautiful – she knew she would have it no other way.

…

The pair were strewn over the leather couch. Nora had her legs in Patch's lap while he ran his hands up and down them soothingly. They focused on the TV screen.

This was their companionship. Two close friends who found respite in each other's company. They didn't need anyone else; they didn't want anyone else.

Their fire – black and blue and red and dangerous – they could bring it down to an icy white, to a gentle flicker.

That meant violent sex and lots of guns.

…

The door to the apartment broke open and people in black uniform poured in faster than Nora had ever managed to reload a gun.

The couple were on the couch. They had yet to make a move to get up.

Nora reached for the remote and turned the volume down. "I wasn't aware we were having a tea party," she said briskly, moving to stand up. "I'll just pop the kettle on."

One of the men jabbed his gun in her direction. "Stay seated."

One dictated their rights to them. Two of the five others handcuffed Nora; the other three went for Patch.

…

Nora stayed silent as the policewoman questioned her.

Silly things – what's your name, what's your age, who is your accomplice? Nora said nothing and focused on the spot beside her head.

There were hours of questioning. The police lead Nora to a cell. They lead Patch to a similar, separate one.

Nora did not sleep that night. She was seated on the bed in a sturdy orange jumpsuit. Her vision did not sway from the wall opposite of her.

What was to happen to Patch? That was what frightened her the most.

…

It was two days later when her lawyer was presented to her. He sat down in the interrogation room; Nora took the seat across from him, arms folded in her lap.

"My name is Scott Parnell. I will presenting both yourself and Patch Cipriano," he said.

"Is he alright?" she asked, voice croaking as she said the first thing she'd said in days.

The lawyer smiled. "As well as he can be, given the circumstance. He has requested one thing," he told Nora.

"And what is that?"

…

Two weeks later, Nora was released.

Scott gave her a change of clothes and lead her out of the prison walls.

"When will Patch be released?"

"As soon as possible." He would be in there for a couple more years, at least.

"And he-he wanted me out?"

"Yes," Scott Parnell said. "That was his only request."

For someone who claimed not to have loved her, Patch had surely done a lot for Nora.

**A/N: Thank you hope79 for the Bonnie and Clyde idea!**

**For someone who is not American, I had to do a lot of research on them...and a lot of rewrites! This is the third idea I got from the inspiration, and the only one I could actually finish (yes, there are 3 other B+C ideas milling around my word documents...)**

**I tried to bring in their youth/recklessness/sexy times (which is basically what I understood the ground of B+C's relationship to be like, aside from getting captured and all that jazz)**

**Keep the ideas coming! Ausilin xx**


	18. Happy Halloween

Number 18 - AU

Happy Halloween

It was yet to be dark out; the moon was visible, the sky falling into dark blue.

Nora was eight. Her fingers were wrapped around a pumpkin-decorated bag, and she skipped in front of her parents, swinging it in her chubby fingers. Soon the bag would be heavy with sweets, but she liked it too much to let it go.

Her father soon hoisted her onto his shoulders. Her laugh was shrill and she handed her sweets to her mother, winding her fingers into his hair. They walked the dark path towards the farmhouse together, loud and happy.

When it hit eight o'clock, Nora snuck out to the dark garden. She had left her witch hat on the couch and now her ears were cold.

She crawled up onto the wooden bench that her mummy liked. She could hear her daddy shouting again. Her bare feet were gritty and muddy and she started to cry.

Fat tears dribbled off her chin. At least they warmed her up.

"Witches don't cry."

Nora turned, and there was a boy sitting next to her. She sniffled and gulped, rubbing her fists over her cheeks. "Yes they do!" she whined.

The boy looked down at her. His skin was a frosted white colour. He was very pretty. He had pretty, dark hair and a pretty face, but he was old.

He smiled. "Have you ever seen one cry?"

Nora bit her lip, eyebrows ruffling in concentration. "N-no."

He smiled again. "I think mummy and daddy have stopped shouting now. Do you want to go back inside?"

Nora nodded and jumped off the bench, her feet sinking into the cold mud of the grass. Dew stuck to her toes.

"I'm Nora. What's your name?"

"My name's Patch."

Nora's expression contorted in confusion once again. "That's not a real name."

The boy laughed and when he said nothing else, Nora turned and walked back to her house. When she reached the doorway she turned to say goodbye to the pretty boy – be polite, like her mummy always taught her – but he had disappeared.

…

It was October 31st, and Nora was getting babysitted by one of the cousins. She was nine, and Tyler was sixteen.

Tyler lead Nora to the houses, walking ahead of her. He nodded his head to the tunes from his headphones, successfully ignoring his surroundings. Nora was sure to be quick at each of the houses, skipping some so she wouldn't be left behind.

They got the bus back to the farmhouse, and Tyler was instantly on his phone.

"Listen to me brat: stay out of my way when Jo comes over."

Nora hadn't even taken off her shoes yet. "Who's Jo? Is he nice?"

"Jo's a girl, stupid. Just stay out of our way."

Nora pulled her wellies off but kept her small bag of sweets in her fingers. She moved to the livingroom just as the sound of the doorbell resonated through the house.

Tyler was followed back into the livingroom with a pretty girl. Her blonde hair reached her bum and her eyes were a shimmery green.

Nora couldn't stop staring at her. She hadn't seen an angel before.

"Cut it out, brat. You're making Jo uncomfortable." Tyler stood up and pushed Nora's head back, walking to the DVD player. "Leave us alone, kid. Go play dollies or something."

Nora stayed seated for a moment. Tyler turned around in a flash, making her jump. "Did you not hear what I said? Scram!"

Nora jumped off the couch, running recklessly for the door as her socks slid. She reached for the door handle and ran to her back garden.

Settling on the grass, Nora shovelled sweets into her mouth. Anything she could get her hands on; lollies, jelly sweets, chocolate. She bit her way through the hard sweets, trying to keep herself occupied so she wouldn't cry.

"Haribos are my favourites, too," a voice said to her left.

Nora turned towards it. He looked exactly the same – the same hairstyle, the same clothes, the same faded pink lips.

She offered him the bag, but he declined with a shake to his head.

"You shouldn't be upset," Patch said. He ran his fingers through his grey hair. All of the colours on his bodies were muted.

Nora stared up at the older boy. "I'm not," she said through a mouthful of sweets.

"Good," he said. "Because everyone wants to impress their first girlfriend. They don't want to get dumped."

"Okay."

The two were in relative silence, Nora still working her way through her candy. "I like your costume," she said.

"I like yours too. You're a vampire, right? You look really cute."

Nora nodded with a giggle. "Thank you, mister. Are you a ghost?"

He smiled at her, but she was too young to percieve the hidden sadness. "Why yes Nora, I am."

…

"Nora, dear. Would you like some friends to go trick-or-treating with?"

Nora shook her head. "No, mummy. I want to go with you."

None of the girls at school liked her, anyways.

…

"You're not upset today," the boy said, slinking onto the bench.

Nora smiled. "That's because nobody is ever sad on Halloween!"

He laughed. "Very true, Nora. How many sweets did you get?"

"I can show you!" she said in excitement. "Wait one second."

She ran back into her house and came out with her haul. Presenting it to him with a flourish, Nora smiled a grin with two missing front teeth.

Maybe her friend did only visit her once a year. But he was pretty and he was very nice.

…

"Nora, you're eleven. Go with some friends."

"Daddy-"

He huffed in anger. "How many times do I have to tell you that you're too damn old to call me that!" Reaching out, Nora's father gripped her upper arm and shook her. "Stop pissing me off, Nora." His teeth were bared and he pushed his face into hers, consuming all of her space.

Nora stumbled out of his grip, tripping over the table leg. She pushed herself up and ran out of her father's office before he could get even more angry.

She met her mother in the kitchen. She was chopping vegetables.

Nora knew she had heard everything.

…

"Where's your outfit?"

Nora's eyes flitted to Patch before taking her attention back to the stick she was digging into the mud.

"Don't have one."

Patch slunk down next to her. "Really? I don't believe you."

Nora continued digging into the soil. "I don't wanna dress up."

"I don't believe you."

"I'm telling the truth."

Patch leant back on his hands, focus on the inky sky. "Whatever you say, Nora."

Nora copied his position and stared up to the stars. "You should come over more."

"I wish I could."

They both watched the stars for a long time. Nora's mother called her in and Patch dripped out of vision.

…

"Why do you only visit once a year?" Nora's arms were crossed over her torso, her lips curled in anger. The thought had been grating her for a long time – almost for a year. She had a year to wind herself up about it. Why would her only friend only see her on Halloween?

Patch smiled at her. "You want to see me more?"

Nora shoved him. "Tell me."

Patch's dark eyes clung to hers, suddenly serious. "Do you trust me?"

Nora snorted in anger, crossing her arms tighter. "You're my best friend, and I only see you once a year! Please, just tell me why."

Patch looked at her sadly. "I'm your best friend?" He seemed genuinely concerned – perhaps because Nora clearly lacked in social skills, or maybe because Nora's best friend was not even her age. Or a girl.

Nora guessed it was better for him to not know that everyone in her school hated her.

"Get back on topic." At that point, Nora looked as angry as a twelve year old could.

"I'm a ghost, Nora."

If anything, Nora looked angrier. "Of course you are! You're a ghost every year." She unwound her arms to flail them around and ennunciate herself.

He smiled again, his purplish lips pulling upwards. "I'm a real ghost, Nora. I'm no longer living."

Nora placed her hand over his chest. There was no heartbeat.

…

"I'm dead, but even I can tell that that smoke is nasty."

Nora looked over her shoulder. "Patch!" she cried, agony tearing at the word. She dropped her cigarette on the grass and ran towards him, wrapping her arms over his broad shoulders.

"Oh – kiddo, you alright?"

Nora wasn't alright, so she started to sob. Patch rocked her side to side as the cigarette's flare dropped. The sky was painted in darker and darker tones.

When Nora pulled away, the sky was a deep blue.

"What happened, Nora?"

Nora shook her head. "It-it was just everything, really. I think I needed to cry."

Patch soothingly ran his cold hand down her back. "Okay."

"Tell me about being a ghost."

Patch gave Nora the distraction. They focused on the sky and settled into the comfort they gave each other.

…

Nora stood, waiting in the back garden until the sun broke the sky.

Patch never turned up.

…

Nora was fifteen. The last time she had seen her best friend was two years ago. Sometimes, when the girls at her school shoved her head down the toilet or into tables, she tried to remember what he looked like – what he sounded like. But his face was blurry and his words were forgotten.

Relief drowned Nora when she saw Patch on the garden bench. She ran to him wrapped her arms around him.

"Don't leave me," she begged. "Please."

"I would never, Nora. I promise." His arms encased her with a warming chill, his face buried in her head.

That night, Nora took a picture with Patch, and saved it as her phone lock screen and wallpaper.

…

"Look at how pathetic she is! She's got a fucking fake boyfriend as her lock screen," Dabria taunted.

"That's what you were doing on Halloween, Nora? Getting freaky with your university boyfriend? You're such a slut!" Vee laughed manically, shoving Nora to the floor and extracting her phone from her fingers.

"Give it back!" Nora shouted. She was usually placid – but this time, when it was involving Patch? Never.

Dabria pinned her arms behind her back, and Nora struggled against her grip. Vee was pawing through the photos on Nora's phone.

"Look at yourself, you fucking ugly whore." Vee had pulled up a Nora and Patch's picture. "You think anyone would ever want a girl as ugly as you?"

Dabria snorted. "What says she's a girl? She's flatter than Simone Smith's voice."

Vee cackled. "True." She walked into a cubicle. "I wonder what would happen if I – slipped?" Vee held Nora's phone tauntingly over the toilet.

"Don't!" Nora cried. "Please, just stop!" she continued to struggle against Dabria. She coldn't lose that photo. She couldn't.

There was a thunk when the phone hit the bottom of the toilet. "Oops!" Vee said.

Nora's head soon followed the device.

…

"Patch? What are you doing here?"

Patch was standing in the middle of the school toilets. His eyes were solely on Nora. She was laying near the toilet, as if her head had been thrown out of it.

She pulled herself up onto her elbows. "It's not Halloween yet. How come I can see you?"

Patch's face was twisted in sadness. He crouched beside Nora, pulling her pilable body into his arms. "How much do you remember?"

Nora's eyes flicked to the loo.

Vee and Dabria had held her head in the toilet again. The water rushed around her face when they flushed it. Nora couldn't breathe – her lungs burned.

Her hands were pawing at theirs, she was pushing against the toilet rim. Their grip was stronger than her father's.

"I'm dead, aren't I?" Nora asked.

Nora could feel Patch nodding against her shoulder.

She laughed.

**A/N: Happy Halloween! I hope you enjoyed. I loved writing this! Yassss**


	19. Whatever You're Worth

Number 19 - AU

Whatever You're Worth

"Have you heard that we only accept what we think we're worth?"

"Yeah."

"You've been sitting here, waiting, for the past hour. You think you're worth so little that you'll get ditched again and again at the same bar – you'll wait again and again. Do you want to know what I think?"

Disgruntled, "No." Ashamed, embarrassed.

"I think you're pathetic. I think you should stand up and punch that fucktard till they see yellow. I think you should have some self respect."

…

Alone. House empty.

No note. No heating. Cold.

Back at the bar – they're manning the bar again. Order a drink. Order another.

"You're waiting again?" Disbelieving.

Drunk. "No."

"No?"

"I'm done waiting."

…

Bags packed. Jacket on.

No note.

…

Order a drink. Wait to be served. Push the drink back across the bar.

"Did I mix up the order?" Confused.

No. "It's for you."

"For me?" Smile.

"For you." Smile.

**A/N: v different style**

**Thanks for all the positive feedback on the last chapter! 3 you're cute**

**And i'll try the famous idea! x**


	20. Famous

Number 20 - AU (In Patch's POV)

Famous

When the word famous comes to mind, I think of…celebrities. Musicians, singers – even bakers and artists.

So I don't know if being on a missing poster makes me famous _exactly_. But that's probably how I'll pawn it off to my mates (hopefully I don't see those SOBs again).

…

I'm walking around the centre of town – not my town, don't ask me how I got there – when some fugly hobo jumps out from between WHSmith and Wilko. Clearly I'm caught off guard, and the dude wrestles my bloody backpack off my shoulder.

Great. Zero food, zero money.

…

There's a soup kitchen, but soup kitchens = some hoe recognising me. Don't wanna go home yet. Not risking it.

I successfully ignore my aching stomach for the night.

…

4am, stomach still aching - can't sleep. Don't know where to sleep. Everywhere smells like piss.

…

8am. People going to work. The hunger is the worst.

…

Found a quid on the floor. Currently the proud owner of a Buxton bottle.

Pretty sure I'm smelling more like shit than the lime bodywash I last used.

…

5pm. Rationing water (surely 250ml a day is enough to survive?) and still hungry. Chew on my hoodie string to keep my mouth busy.

Found a park. It's cold. I'm ready to sleep.

…

Move town again, further away from home.

Feeling lighter.

…

Bin dive behind Tesco. Enough food for a few days.

Chowing through a stale cookie + consider which town to go to next. Find a fiver on the floor. I'm one lucky bitch.

…

It's been a while. Settled down up north. Loads of free food given around here. Bitches still searching for me.

I'm pretty sure I smell of piss but I can't even tell anymore.

…

Sitting on the side of the walkway. People toss pennies in my direction. Basically a dog.

…

Bloody tired. Trying to stop heroin. Always fucking hungry. Never enough money.

…

Got twenty quid for sitting on the floor and doing jack all. Looking high = looking homeless. Spent it on coke.

…

Woman stands in front of me. Clean shoes, dirty nose (get out of my business, bloody basic bitch). Doesn't stop looking at me.

I take my things and get my arse out of there. Bitch could throw me in for the night for anything.

Second thought, I slow down. Cell = warm, cell = food.

…

Buster gives me a joint. Dude's a solid.

…

Cash straight to acid. The shit's good.

The lady watches me, I watch the lady.

…

Bitch comes with others and I'm off my head. Had acid last night and still tripping. No idea what's happening. They talk and I laugh.

A giraffe eats Bitch's hair and she doesn't notice. Fucking twat. I laugh some more.

…

I realised the next morning that Bitch took me to the fucking poilce.

My head feels like it's about to roll off.

Usually tackle the low with the high but they blazed me out. No drugs.

Feeling dry and itchy. Plotting a murder. Fucking brass-haired cunt throws me in a cage like a dog. I'll show that bitch.

…

In interrogation room. Dried out in cell overnight.

Fucking police dick asks what the fuck my name is and what the hell does he want me to say? yes, my name is the same name as that fucking child who went missing over a year ago and yes I want to go back to mummy and daddy and yes poor druggie Patchy is sorry he made mummy and daddy upset and yes poor Patchy is ready to go back to that shithole.

Ready to get shitfaced again.

…

Won't let me go till they have a name. Try to take DNA but without permission they can't take shit.

Offer me a shower and change of clothes but I don't bother cous I'll be gone soon and what the fuck do they think I would trust them with my only change of clothes? Fucking cunts left my sleeping bag and food and shoes back when they caught me. Not expecting them back.

At a standstill. Case of wills. Surely they will let me go if I keep quiet.

…

In interrogation room. Sweating, breathing heavily. Itching for a fix.

Female officer wanders in without me realising, too dried out to care, feel like a slug in summer.

'You can go once we have a name,' and clearly she knows what she's doing because I'm blurting my name and bolting for the door quicker than she can say come back and I fucking leg it towards the fucking outdoors I NEED SOME FUCKING COKE but some fucktwat grabs me? And lets fucking face it, druggie vs policeman? I'm done for.

…

Back in interrogation room. They identified me as myself against photos. Mummy and Daddy are coming.

I stop talking.

…

Care home for the night. Still dried out and shaky. Fucking painful. Some kid runs into me and I shout so loud that the little bitch goes crying to the fucking owner lady and I get a damn earful, which results in a shitty ass headache that I DIDN'T DAMN WELL NEED.

Least I got a bed for the night.

…

Can't sleep. So much pain. Clawing through cupboards I've never seen. Hoping someone hid some stuff.

…

Search under floorboards.

…

4am. Buzzing with no sleep.

…

7am. Force fed. Throw up. Ironic cous I'm always bloody hungry.

…

10am – bags packed full of shit that's not mine. Good thing about withdrawal's that I got no time to think about M+D till now.

…

One of the bloody workers corners me, 'You excited to see your mum and dad again?' and I flip the bitch off because CLEARly I'm not excited about seeing two SOBs after running away from my fucking house to get away from them and not fucking asking for police help and preferring to live without a house than with them cunts.

Lady seems alarmed but I'm off before she can spook herself out of shock.

News bitch: not everyone's nice.

…

Some fucking girl's pawing through the room I was in. I watch her. Nice arse.

She turns around and stammers and I try to seem as serious as possible because I haven't had much fun in a while and fucking with people is probably my favourite thing to ever do and her face turns the same colour as her hair and I hold back a snigger behind my fist and that's when she realises that I'm fucking with her harder than Blair fucked with Britain.

She calls me out on it and I just start laughing so much which is weird because I'm not high at all and she somehow joins in but it gets a little crazy and I start shaking and need a lay down on the floor.

I grunt when she tells me her name and tell her to fuck off. Don't need her name. Won't be seeing her again.

She tosses her hair over her shoulder like some prissy bitch and walks over my body like it's a dead fucking log, which I wouldn't be surprised it it was because it was so fucking heavy and it hurt like a bitch.

I turn my head and throw up over the carpet. Some unlucky SOB will have fun cleaning that shit up.

…

Turns out I'm the unlucky SOB.

…

Still the unlucky SOB. M+D arrive and I am locked in the bathroom.

Haven't seen them yet but they have the Volkswagen.

Try to get out of the window.

…

Rugby tackled by some worker dude. Body hurts. No energy. Haven't been high in too long.

…

They recite the same script from nearly two years ago.

M: Hello, Patch.

D: How are you, buddy?

Fucking fake cunts. My only friend is my right fucking hand.

I stay silent.

…

They can't take me home. I believe there is a god.

…

Police invesigate my cause for running away. I say nothing.

…

The red head now stays with me in my room during the day. I beg her to buy me some acid or coke or even some lame arse weed but instead she fucking watches as I dry heave and shake like I'm having a bloody fit 24/7.

She makes me some form of tea and tried to get me to eat something but I'm so fucked rn and my insides burn and I think I'm going to chuck up my stomach but is that even possible?

…

M+D are claimed to be unfit parents.

Fucking cunts in prison for neglect and child abuse. Hope they get raped.

…

Nora stops putting wet rags on my forehead which I'm fucking thankful for because she always did it wrong and the water would go into my eyes and make them itchier than a builder's buttcrack and for some reason she didn't excatly like it when I told her that and I'm pretty sure she just put more water in them to piss me off.

…

Been a couple of weeks and still getting itchy for a hit but fucking Nora takes the edge off.

Need to find her.

**A/N: please give me some constructive criticism! I need to know what to improve in my diary-writing skills for my coursework xox**

**double update bc the last one was shit**


	21. A Gross Misunderstanding

Number 21 - AU (Patch's POV)

A Gross Misunderstanding

My father always had a knack of getting in trouble; I would guess it ran in our veins.

Poor sod died before he reached fifty. Shame, really – the ugly bastard owed a bunch of thugs money. No can do. Not like I'm the type to get a job.

Dude dies, and the funeral costs are extortionate. It was like he was playing with us, even then. Dancing around us with his fiddle and all that jazz.

Mummy falls into debt, we're in a smaller house and then we're moving house again because loan sharks are bloody sneaky. Seriously, the bastards were at our house more than we were, and even took upon waiting for us in our neighbours (traitors') homes.

So I'm at a new school with a pair of black Primark trainers (y'no, the rotten flats that split in two days) and a faded blue blazer (ugly yellow logo) from the used section and a schoolbag that's been running for four years solid – yeah, it was more sentimental than fashionable with the amount of paperclips that were holding the broken zips closed (maybe it could pass for hip?)

Dressing like a homeless kid in a bunch of unironed clothes (we never found the iron? Maybe a loan shark stole it? WTF would they want with a fucking duct taped iron though?) really screamed 'bully me' – and I guess kids are just good at worshipping the divine call. First day in and the vultures are sussing me out (yeah, I'm chilling in no man's land like a fucking unaware stupid-arse corpse) and I guess seeing a guy dressed worse than the kids post-war really is irresistably bullyable, even if they are over 6ft and have a penchant for glaring holes into anything and everything (that's totally not my fault though, I mean I call it as daydreaming, you call it glar(gaz)ing).

So yeah, this is how the second day went:

"Yo, new kid! Catch this unscrewed bottle of very corrosive hydrochloric acid that I'm about to slide along the table!" (Excuse my paraphrasing, but _as if_ I'm gonna go ahead and remember exactly what that dick said word-for-word. Pur-lease).

Me, a very syllabic speaker, watched the disaster unfold. I did make a sincere attempt to grab at the bottle – don't get me wrong – but at that moment in time I was, I dunno, doing the fucking work rather than fucking around? Pouring some goddamn sulphuric acid into a fucking measuring cylinder (both bloody hands full) and somehow trying to _accio_ a bloody third arm to grab the HCl before it hit its trajectory.

Upon failure of my attempt, I was rushed to the nurse and stripped down faster than a sex worker. Uniform fucking gone. Bought another one with my bus fare (yippee, one and a half hour walks home in Primark shoes for like three weeks – a blistery delight. Better than sex).

My third day wasn't much better. So I was walking to school (had to wake up at six fifty, leave at seven to arrive to school at eight thirty – I love my life indeedy) and like in the last ten minutes(ish?) of my journey, some dickwads end up jogging to catch up with me.

Lil' old unsuspecting me – jamming to _The Neighbourhood_ when some arses start tugging at my bag.

Course the little bitch falls apart faster than Marlin did then he lost Dory. Pens, books, paper – they all jovially high-five the tarmac. My peers take the opportunity to crush some of the paper that flew in their direction, stamp them with muddy footprints (bloody hell, my Primark shoes are better than that fashion disaster) – and they laugh.

I stand there for a moment, contemplating. Not really all that angry. I realise that they were purposefully targeting me (hope in mankind and logic dictated that yesterday had the possibility of being a humble mistake), and I watch them grin up at me.

I could get angry. I could punch them so hard that they're spitting out blood onto my textbooks rather than saliva. I could knock them out. And to be honest, these bitches would look better knocked out. And I would much prefer to be reading out of books that were stained with the blood of thine (mine?) enemies. Could probably ace all of my exams with the mere reassurance of my masculinity.

Calculating the variables is difficult. You need to know how far to push without getting in trouble – how much you can punch before the beating is too obvious, the pain you can cause before they go crying to mummy. But the bottom line is solid. These dicks need a lesson that can't be taught at school.

So I'm standing there, they're still giddy and high-fiving each other. Seemed like dropping some textbooks turned them on a million miles more than Playboy ever could.

I arrive to school about ten minutes late, and yes – the blood of thine enemies is on mine textbooks (mainly the mechanics one, which is a shame because I hardly revised maths and where would I get the satisfaction if I never saw the textbook?)

Walking into school with your shirt untucked and bloody isn't exactly the look I was attempting to recreate, but beggars can't be choosers and I was just glad that most laundry detergents were strong enough to wash out blood nowadays.

So a little later in the third day and I'm still looking fucking ugly and my eye feels how I would imagine how a uterus on its period would feel (some bastard nailed me harder than your mum) and yeah, I was simmering with anger. The fucking textbook had stained my paper so I'd be writing on their blood for weeks.

Sounded sinister.

I think I would prefer writing _in_ their blood. At least it had a function that way. Clearly it was wasted in the bodies of five humans.

After day three the bastards pretty much stay clear of me – I assume losing some teeth has that effect on someone. And I'm just the lonely kid who everyone pities for _clearly _being very poor.

I did consider trying to make some friends, but they're just a waste of time. I still had my mates back from my old school and they were serving me well as is. I didn't have the effort to do out of my way to meet someone new.

So it's day ten and I'm roaming the school halls before lunch, considering whether or not I had the effort to grab a Big Mac or if I wanted some straights for later – when I hear like a weird squelching from the boy's toilets. There's no one else really around, and I'm pretty curious.

Turns out it was actually the squelching of some chubby kid getting beaten up. Poor sod. His body was practically engulfing the sound of the hits. And I'm standing at the doorway and watching it happen.

I was 100% cool with just watching this kid get what was being dished out – c'mon, everyone's been bullied once and in all honesty sometimes it really helped toughen you up – and was just about to leave when he stares me in the eye.

Oh fuck.

Not gonna go ahead and say that I'm a huge fan of those underdog stories, but the dude was looking so damn pathetic. Kinda reminded me of how my mum looked at Dad's funeral (yeah, the look annoyed me then too).

So I let the door close and somehow the apes hear it shut (even though they didn't hear it open – one of the many wonders of the universe) and one of them turns towards me before dropping the kid on the floor.

The kid grabs his bag and huddles in the corner (pathetic), and now I have the attention of the same bitches who were fucking with me last week.

Yeah, I did make a little inventory of their bruises – yellow and pretty like sunflowers – and stare them off.

One kid muscles his way past me and the rest soon follow. I'm pretty proud that my stare was enough to get them to piss off, but then again I guess they didn't want to mess with the ugly homeless guy who could whip their arses.

Gonna tell the truth: I would _not_ get in a fight for that kid. He was a stranger and I didn't fucking know him – what did you expect? At least I've got a sense of self-preservation, dudes.

So the kid huddles in the corner and is sniffling like he's got pneumonia or something, and I walk up to the sink and wash my hands. I think I decided on roll ups for lunch. Much cheaper. Plus I needed something to take the edge off my headache.

"Thanks," the kid practically squeaks. I throw the used paper towels in the bin and make my way to the door - his comment goes unawknowledged.

I'm up to day twelve and I've started counting down to when I can leave rather than how long I've stayed when someone taps my shoulder.

I pull out a headphone and the other comes out too (annoying, I know). There's a pretty girl in front of me – regulation knee-length skirt, pearl-white button up shirt, perfect sized tits and hair that would be great to tug on. Lips that would be great to bite into.

She's actually biting her lip when she asks, "Is your name Patch?" And before I can answer, "I just came here to say thank you for getting those guys off my brother's back. They-they wouldn't leave him alone, so thank you."

I was pretty confused. "Your brother?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "Yay high, he's in Year Ten…brown hair and glasses."

I recalled the chubby guy from the loos and nodded. "Okay."

"Thank you," she repeated.

"Okay."

We were silent for a moment and I was just reaching for my headphones again when her words stopped me. "So, um – like, I always see you around, but you never hang out with anyone."

I shrugged because tbh I never do hang out with people. I'm not the type to easily make friends and I was doing well with the people from my old school. We would meet up on weekends and stuff. I was too lazy to try to socialise.

"Well, if you ever want to hang out, um…I'm usually doing stuff around the school, but-uh, we could always, like, hang out?"

Bloody hell, I couldn't stop my grin if I tried. "You sure you want to…what was the phrase you used…_hang out_?"

Her face flushed. "Oh, stop it," she sniffed, eyes settling on the floor, but there was a small smile on her smooth lips.

Fuck me.

That was legit the only thing I could think. Fucking her would be 10/10. Make my day entirely. When was the last time I got some, anyways?

I think that was when I decided that I was going to get _her_.

…

So it was day thirteen (I'm still counting, sue me) and I had a strategy on how to get a leg up.

Her brother.

That fat little fuck would get me right to her. I make sure he's not bullied, he tells her – it's a win/win. Girls loved the protection stance, especially if it was mixed (not stirred) with the threat of danger.

Course I wasn't going to become his bitch. I'd help him out once or twice more, make the red-head swoon, then I'd be one happy fellow.

Fucking hell she was cute.

…

Day fourteen and I finally know that girl's name. Nora Gray. Bit mundane – not like her name matters when I'm fucking her. And let's face it, it's not like Patch is doing any better in that department. Not one word of a lie, my mum named me after her dog that had died just before I was born. Bloody fuck when she tells people that I just want to slap my head into a fucking cricket bat and forget all about it.

…

Still day fourteen (just a little later) and I'm wandering the corridors just as the lunch break begins, listening out for any children getting terrorised. I missed the sweet sound of their screams.

Jks. I just don't give a fuck. If it doesn't affect me, I don't care. Punch as many Year Eights in the face as you want. Character building helps to build character.

Corridors are clear and which means my lungs aren't because I'm outside in 0.5 secs with a Camel pressed between my lips and a buzz beginning in my brain.

…

Still day fourteen and I'm trying to figure out my infatuation with Nora.

She was pretty but I was in it for the sex – looks mattered but I wasn't all that focused on them. I just wanted a good lay. A warm body. Most of my girls wanted the same.

Would Nora want to have sex if I propositioned her?

I looked down at my clothes and shook my head. Nobody would want to fuck the poor boy, Patch.

…

Evening of day fourteen and I'm at home watching some fucking reality TV show, smoking through the last of my pack of fags and flicking through the village magazine. Mum walks by and snatches the fag out of my mouth, smoking it while sliding into her heels (and yeah, they were sharp enough to to be used more for protection purposes than for fashion – but maybe that was the fucking point).

"You going out for dinner?" I ask, pulling out the last cig and lighting it.

She nods and grabs a jacket.

"Hot date?"

Her cig is discarded in the ceramic plate I was using as an ashtray. She takes a moment to exhale the fumes – she looks like she's enjoying it – before she whispers, "Is it too early?"

"Mum, it's like seven o'clock. Not too early for dinner."

She takes a seat on the arm of my chair. "Too early to see other men."

I flick the page of the magazine, switching from one important article about the Christmas lights to another important article about Spanish slugs. All I'm thinking about is that she's loyal to a dead man who dried us out until we were worse off than a sultana.

"Mum, Dad was a selfish dick and he deserved to die. Go get laid or something."

Mum squeezes my shoulder as if she's pressing some of the pain out of me. "You miss him too, don't you?" she whispers. "Every time you watch me walk through the door, you get disappointed when your father isn't there with me, right?"

"Dad was a dick."

Mum presses her fingers underneath my chin. "Doesn't stop us from loving him, sweetheart." She holds me closer. "Doesn't stop us from loving him."

We hold each other for a long time, cigs in ashtray. I watch the flare dwindle out. Mum stands up and says she's gonna cancel her date, but I tell her to fuck off and get out of the house.

"Always so affectionate," she snorts (irony because she actually does sound affectionate).

She leaves and all I can think about is that that was the first time I had properly spoken to my mother and that maybe I did miss Dad, even if he was a dickhead.

My eyes were too blurry to read the magazine anymore – which was fucking annoying because the next article was something important about the Church or something.

…

Day sixteen and I save the kid's arse. Yeah them little bitches were pissy af and I'm pretty sure they're gonna smack me one if I get in the way again. #PrayforPatch

The kid was crouched in the corner of the same loos, snivelling. "Kid," I said.

It looked up.

"Get your arse up. Go do some homework or whatever the fuck you kids do."

It looked confused. Standing up, it went to leave.

"At least wash that shit off your face first," I said with a snort. The kid was fucking hopeless.

If anything, he looked more upset from when he began. He rinsed his face off and went for the door.

"Thanks," he said when he got there.

"This happen a lot?"

He looked confused.

"I mean you getting the everliving shit getting beaten out of you. Don't even know why you turn up to school, dude."

Turning back to face me, he sniffed again. He was rubbing his face and making it all red and blotchy. Fucking gross.

"Sometimes. And I like school."

Of course he did. Little fucking nerd.

I couldn't help but look at him properly. His glasses framed were fucking branded, his shoes were too and his rucksack wasn't as sentimental to him as mine clearly was to me.

Fucking little bitch was rich. Should have hired a bodyguard or something.

Needless to say I'm hardly gonna go bag myself a rich girl.

…

Day sixteen's a Friday which is fucking great because damn do I need some weed. I'm sitting in a circle with some of my mates from my old school and we're passing around the blunt like it's a lolly and pretty much just pissing around. Haven't had weed in so long and I'm practically gone after the first few puffs but tbh the shit Rixon scored was the strong stuff too, so it was hardly like I was gonna take this one easy.

Don't exactly know what happened but I'm snogging Dabria and yeah we have a history but I guess I'm too much of a slut to pass by free sex (high sex is the best as well) and lets be fair it's hardly like Nora's gonna like me back, I don't have to be smart to know that rich girls don't go for the dirt-poor smokers who have an affinity for getting high.

I may have kinda promised myself that Nora would be the next one I'd be fucking, but if that's the case then I'd never get laid ever again and I'm pretty sure I would die from inactivity or something.

I just love girls too much.

…

Back at school on the Monday and I meet Nora's brother's eye but I block the bitch, I mean juct because I helped him out once or twice doesn't mean we're BFFs or something. Clingy bitch.

Anyway I've given up on getting Nora now; it's hardly like my dick can tell the difference pussy-to-pussy. I'm a realistic kind of guy and I don't do shit unless I can get something out of it so there's no point in me helping out the little kid cous it's clear that nobody wants to be near the lonely poor guy who started in the middle of the year, let alone fuck him.

So I'm in the middle of Maths and she's sitting at the front of the class, I'm at the back, and when the teacher leaves she comes up to my desk and sits on the edge of it as if it's normal and I'm playing the blocking game again because I know that just seeing her will make me crazy and I've already layed off the pretty, rich girls.

"Patch?"

I looked up at her and hot damn is it difficult to keep my promise to myself, especially if the pretty girls' skirts ride up when they're sitting on desks so you can see more of their killer fucking legs.

It's a marvel to say that yes, I did actually manage to tear myself away from her legs and look up at her face.

"Thanks again."

I nodded and made a show of turning around to face the textbook again; maybe Nora was my weakness but I made a promise to myself and in all fairness the sex with Dabria was pretty great, great enough to consider ditching my infatuation with the red-head forever.

She poked my shoulder. "You should talk more, you know. You're clearly a nice guy."

Nice? She confused my actions for being _nice_? Well, that was the whole fucking point. Maybe she thought I wasn't talking because I was shy or something?

I smirked. "If you knew one thing about me, you would know that I'm not nice."

"All I know about you is that you've helped my brother out twice and that means less bruises, which is great for me because he complains about them _all day_." She was kinda sarcastic but you could tell she was worried about the chubby kid.

I leant towards her. "Wanna know why I helped him out?"

"Sure."

I tipped my head to the side and rubbed my jaw – _fucking hell would I really tell her_? In all honesty, how else would I get her off my back? She was pretty and all but I wasn't gonna waste my time. Plenty of girls to fuck and a pussy is a pussy.

"How else would I get with you?"

Nora's lips imitated the shape you would make when blowing bubbles in chewing gum. "W-well, if you wanted to get with me…" she tugged at her cuffs nervously and yeah it was pretty fucking cute, "Here's my number. We should go out on a date sometime." She picked my pen out of my fingers and wrote something on the side of my notes.

It occurred to me that I had a crush on the one girl who had grossly misunderstood the term 'get with.'

**A/N I think I've fallen in love with Patch's POV. Sue me.**

**Thanks for all the comments and speculations! Leave prompts below if you have something in particular in mind :)**


	22. Death

Number 22, AU (Patch's POV)

Death

There were many truths that were known by humans, and one of them (concerning life after death) was that Death himself was once a human.

Humans wonder _under which circumstance did Death gain his title_? What made him so good at leading stray humans to the afterlife? What exactly were the job credentials?

Of course, some people believed that Death was a fantasy; that he didn't exist and was more a symbol of hope rather than something real.

My first few encounters with humans as Death were dull ones. They were the stray who could not find their way. They were all the same. They were frightened and scared and they would ignore the instinctual pull taking them away from land (stupid, in all honesty, because the bitches could make my job a million miles easier – and it's not like they were going anywhere scary or anything).

And then she came.

And rather than asking the most obvious question; the same one time and time again – rather than asking _what comes after?_

She said, "What do you remember?"

She had started with a quiet voice, just like all the others – she sounded frightened and lost. Then she asked me whether or not she could question me and when she did question me, I wish I hadn't given her permission.

My answer could be something that would help her find her way, so I was bound to give it to her.

"Nora Gray, twenty seven, dead in car crash, lost on Earth for approximately nine days and precisely two hundred and fifteen hours and thirty three minutes. I remember everything."

Her eyes were wide and beautiful. "Do you remember me?"

It was like she considered herself forgettable. "I remember everything."

**A/N: Who believes in the afterlife?**

**Which one-shot has been your fave?**


	23. Predestined

**A/N: Finally, you say - yes, I have finally posted the mental hospital prompt piece! Hope the wait was worth it :)**

Number 23 - AU

Predestined

Mental instability was something that ran in my blood.

My father suffered from manic depression, my mother was schitzo and throughout my childhood I was waiting for my diagnosis. Sure, it took a while to get there, and that's how I spent the first seventeen years of my life in wait.

So when I was five my father was diagnosed with bipolar and he wasn't taking well to his medicine, so he was kept in and out of different hospitals. My mother was left to take care of me, and she was all on her own, which I guess is sad.

It was really difficult for her because she was dealing with her own undiagnosed mental illness at that point. The Grays were known as the crackpot family and I was rewearing unwashed clothes for weeks until I figured out how to use the washing machine without shrinking everything.

Mother was in and out all through my childhood, and I learnt how to take care of myself. The reputation of my family ensured I made no friends, so I was alone for a long time – it's no wonder I felt alienated living on the farmhouse, lightyears away from any memory of humanity.

All in all, I was lonely. Nobody would talk to me at school (crackpot Grays, remember?) and my house was emptier than my wallet.

A rather grisly suicide attempt in the school bathrooms is what dumped me in suicide watch.

Okay, so sure I was expecting a little something like this – I mean, I was _expecting_ to go barmy. But I guess I didn't realise the reality of the situation until I was sharing a table with a bunch of mentally ill tennagers – the Rexes (anorexics, I assumed) the Kicks (bulimics) and just your other common crazies.

It was my second day in and my first group therapy session, and it was weird that even though more people spoke to me here than I'd been spoken to in weeks – well, it was weird that I still felt alone. They all stared at me and welcomed me, "Hello, Nora," monotonous – they remined me of the kids in school but they weren't allowed to call me psycho because we were all fucked in the head – and I replied with a, "Hello, everyone," and that was the first time that someone my age had spoken to me, directly, without saying anything derogotory…in forever.

So the group leader lady is called Dabria, and she shoots me a soft smile. "So Nora; can you tell us a little bit about yourself?"

I wasn't ready for these people to hate me and I knew I would say something wrong, so I shook my head.

Dabria kept on smiling. "Come on, dear – there's nothing to be shy about. We're all friends here."

A cold sweat started on the back of my neck and my leg started shaking. I could hear it tapping unevenly on the floor. Oh my God, they already hated me. Holy shit, they were going to laugh at me.

I licked my lips over and over, trying to subtly take deep breaths to calm myself down – they were all staring at me – Dabria was smiling – I don't think I can take it – I can't take it-

I push my way out of the room before they can call me back. I needed a bathroom and I needed some pills – scratch that, they didn't work last time – something sharp – I need something sharp – they hate me already – I'm such a fuck up! I didn't even have to say anything for me to fuck up!

Someone was shouting behind me and I don't know what happened – either I ran into a nurse or she ran into me – but they were holding me down and I my throat was vibrating as if I was screaming but my hearing was muffled and then I was out.

…

They had drugged me and then they had let me back into my room.

…

The room was plain and boring. I had nothing to decorate it with. The meds made me feel slow.

…

They gave me tabs at breakfast and some of the girls (I think they were Rexes) were looking at me weirdly as they swallowed theirs down.

Whatever. I was used to the whispers.

I pushed my foot around as a boy sat beside me.

"Patch."

"Huh?" I asked.

"I'm Patch."

I didn't have many friends growing up, so I had no idea what to say now. "Cool?" I said hesitantly.

We sat next to each other for the rest of the day.

Maybe – even with my lack of social skills - I could still make a friend.

Who was I kidding? This boy wanted nothing to do with me.

…

"I've got bipolar. My little brother found me in my bedroom after I took too much heroin."

"Were you happy or sad?"

"When I took the heroin? I was happy. Herion makes people happy."

There was a gauntness to him that I only knew to associate to drug addiction. His fingers were too slim and there was a deep hollow between his cheekbones and jawline that made him look permenantly ill. His plump lips only served to make his face look out of proportion.

"I tried to kill myself in the school bathrooms. Paracetomol."

Patch snorted. "Rookie mistake, Nora. If you're trying to do it on purpose, go for the hardcore stuff. And I'm pretty sure you're a smart girl. You could've done it somewhere you wouldn't be found."

"I know that now. I wasn't thinking." I sighed a deep, tired sigh. "Maybe if I'd done it right, then I wouldn't have met you."

He flipped me off and stood up on spindly legs. "Cheeky bitch. I'm going for a piss."

…

There was a sort of alliance we had formed. We would always sit silently side-by-side, and whenever we wanted to talk to someone who hadn't gone through eleven years of university we would turn to each other.

"Last time I saw my mum was about five weeks ago."

"How so?"

"She was never at home. Dad dying was hard on her." I took a deep breath. "I would wait and she wouldn't come."

Patch took a chunk out of his toast. "Last time I had sex was about five weeks ago. Think I'm drying out. Can't even jack off without someone walking in on me."

I snorted. "You've tried it?"

He grinned. "Fuck yeah. Too many nurses have seen my dick."

I choked on my milk and Patch sniggered into his fist. From that point onwards, I couldn't help but laugh whenever Patch would interact with a nurse.

It killed me inside.

…

"Yo, Nora. They're letting me out of this shithole."

"What?"

"I'm leaving, Nors. Never coming back. Thank fuck. Don't wanna see your mug ever again."

"You're going?"

Patch laughed. "Yeah. Mum should be here in a couple of minutes."

Patch was leaving. My first and only friend. The only person who willingly spoke to me. The person who chose my boring self over the guys his age – the guys who had similarities with him.

I gulped. "Well done."

We both stood. We were facing each other. And then we were hugging – the first time we had ever held each other.

Patch sighed. "What the fuck am I gonna do out there, Nors? What am I gonna do without you?"

I knew what he meant.

"You'll do great, Patch. I know you will." I blinked back tears – he was leaving me, just like everyone always did. I would be in the farmhouse and he would be living his life. The room would be dark with the blackout curtains drawn, and he would be driving his friends and girlfriends in his car – he would be going to the mall and living while I would be curled on the floor and dying. "We can call each other – we can call each other all the time. A-and we can m-meet up. A-and maybe I'll be out s-soon, and then we can-"

He squeezed me harder. I took deep breaths to calm myself. "We'll do all of those things, Nors. You're my angel, you know that? You saved me. I was falling – you - you saved me. Thank you so much."

The tears were soaking into his shirt. "Don't leave me," I cried. "I-I can't – not without you – Patch, please, I can't…"

"You can, beautiful." He pulled me back so he could see my face. "You'll do amazing. I'll visit all the time, I promise."

I shook my head and held him closer. He was leaving, and he would never come back.

…

"Nora? You have a visitor."

I let Edward lead me to the visiting lounge – a place I'd never been to before.

Patch stood up when he saw me. He was grinning and as soon as I came close enough to him he held out a bouquet of flowers.

"First boy to give you flowers."

I covered my face with my hands and sobbed.

**A/N: Would you guys like more romance? (Pretty willing to give anything a shot, I know these are kinda bland in the romance sector thing.)**

**Thanks hope79! (Your comments r 10/10) I think the irony is that I actually took GAA out from the library for my coursework (I haven't read it yet though). I'm doing the A-Level course...lol**

**How old would you guys guess me to be?**


	24. Unfaithful

**A/N: Some of you may have read this as Number 23 - it's an edited repost (there were a bunch of weird errors in the last one that somehow got added because I posted from my phone)**

Number 24 - AU

Unfaithful

They were at the company party. Patch worked in law and it was fair to say that he and Nora were invited to many of these events.

Nora stood beside Patch, his arm at her waist. She was bored. His eyes were fixed on a dancing lady, then another and then another. They said nothing. Neither broke the bubble of loud noise surrounding them.

A co-worker approached Patch and Nora took her leave. They talked animatedly. Nora swirled her glass of champagne.

Later, Patch entered one of the empty rooms of the hotel where he knew he would find Nora. He cleared his throat and the waiter who had been fucking his wife upped and left.

"Well you're no fun," Nora drawled. "Hadn't even gotten off."

Patch stared at her, stock still. His back was straight and a flute of wine was balancing between his fingers. Black suit and tie, broad shoulders - intimidating was one word for it (and hot as hell was the other).

Nora snored. "Don't stare at me like that, baby," her wedding ring glinted in the candlelight, "It's not like you've never done the same."

Patch dropped onto the couch and loosened his tie. It sat messily on his shoulders.

"What are we doing, Nora?"

She turned from the mirror, having fixed her smudged red lipstick. Her face was invisible in the homey orange lighting.

"What we always do." She smoothed her hands down her golden dress. "Now we'll have sex just so you can prove that I'll never have a lay as good as you, we'll go out the the party and then ignore each other for a couple of days only to repeat the cycle."

He glugged down the wine in his hand. "Aren't you tired, Nora?"

She twirled a lock of hair between her fingers before striding over to him in those killer heels. Sliding into his lap, she pressed her hands onto his shoulders.

Her hips moved against his. "It's just fun, Patch. You know it's fun."

"We're married adults fucking other people as if we don't have a child together."

Nora tsked, untucking his shirt from his belt. "Who cares?" Her hips didn't stop and her lips left red stains down the line of his jaw. "You love it."

Patch sighed, relaxing back against the sofa. His hands were gently gripping her sides, sequined fabric of her dress biting into his fingers.

"Yeah," he said, "But I think we should stop."

Nora pushed his blazer from his shoulders. "No you don't," she said.

Patch bit his lip to hold back a moan. "You're just so sexy," he said through gritted teeth. "But - I can't-"

"Shh," she said soothingly. "I'll make it all better, babe." Her fingers started working on his buttons.

He was reeling. Seduced by his stubborn high school sweetheart. His hands were frozen in place; hers were warm and alive.

"I love you," he said.

Her lips and tongue twisted down his neck. Her nails marked his body.

"I need you to stop, Nora."

She pulled away from him. "Fine. Act all frigid," she huffed. "I just thought you'd help me out, you know, since he left me high and dry and that was your fault."

Patch's hands were resting on his knees. Nora was - once again - fixing her make up and dress. She went to leave. He was still frozen.

"I can't do this anymore."

It grabbed her attention. She turned towards him; purse in the crease of her elbow, frown smeared on her face. "Can't do what?"

"You." His fingers trembled as he fixed his shirt, and then his tie. "We should go home. And you should pack up."

"Pack up?" Her tone had turned from snarky to confused. "Why would I pack up?"

"'Cous I'm done with you. I'm done with us."

...

Nora was reading the document, pen sitting beside her right hand.

"Fine," she said. "I'll sign this, and you can keep Scott. Just tell me why."

"We cheat on each other. We aren't the same." Patch pulled his eyes from his soon-to-be-ex-wife. "I'm tired, Nora. I love you so much..."

She stood up, taking his hands between hers. "We can fix this, Patch. What we had - what we had was amazing! Please, I'll change - I know you're willing to as well - we can do this, babe, we can move on from this-"

"You think this is about the sex - about the cheating?" Patch pulled his hands from hers. "This is about - this-" His voice choked up and he turned his back to Nora.

Her voice was gentle - coaxing - easy. "What's it about, sweetheart?"

Patch swallowed the lump back in this throat. He rubbed under his eyes with the base of his palms. He sniffed.

"I can't do it. I just can't do it." The tears marred his face - there was a magnificent beauty in his passionate pain.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry." She joined him in tears.

That night signified the ending of a relationship that leeched nine years off their lives.

**A/N: Yeah, I'm from the UK. Weather's great here.**

**Happy Wednesday! xxx**

**PS - I know I've been updating a lot recently but there are hardly any comments! And the traffic stats boast high numbers...the next edition isn't coming out till that comment bar feels a little love (yeah, I'm gonna start holding these babies ransom if I don't get enough attention)**

**Much love xx**


	25. Alcohol

Number 25 - AU

Alcohol

There were terrors in the world. Those who think that children are too young to know about them, or that children are too young to experience them properly – well, they're fools.

I was a child when my father died, just beginning secondary school. That wasn't my terror.

The terror was my mother seeking comfort from warm bodies; the terror was my hand reaching for the neck of another vodka bottle.

My terror was becoming an alcoholic at the age of sixteen, her terror was becoming a slut at the age of fourty eight.

There was a constant emptiness that could not and would not be filled by alcohol. I was dead inside, and it took me over six months to realise it.

We all fear death, and the fear is justified. I was dead. I couldn't eat and I couldn't sleep; I couldn't feel anything. Anything I loved I no longer loved. Anything I enjoyed I no longer enjoyed. Anything I did I no longer did.

I didn't love my mother anymore, but I hardly saw her either. I hardly went to school. I spent my time drunk in the farm land around my house, hiding from my mother who I always fooled myself into thinking would come home to see me. Who would come home to see their drunk daughter sobbing into the sofa cushions? Only an idiot, for sure – and my mother had always had pride in being a smart woman.

I tried to go to school. If I was off too long and they sent someone to my house – well, it was safe to say that everything was ruined. But I don't really think I knew what I was trying to save.

There was a new student at school who took a liking to me, and I had no idea why. He was quiet, mysterious, and had all the girls at his crotch – but he brushed them all aside and decided to pursue the girl who spent more of her time hungover than asleep.

It started with long, hard glances to satisfy his curiousity. And when they would no longer sate the burning inferno that not even all the kings horses and all the kings men could restrain – that was when he attempted to introduce himself.

"Hi. My name's Patch."

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

"I guess I'll just sit here."

As enthralling as that one-sided conversation had been, it had not put him off.

"Hey, if you don't get the work, I could help you out."

"I mean, your paper's blank."

"I guess you could be ignoring the teacher like you're ignoring me."

"And…silence."

I had to hide my smile at the last remark – but damn I wouldn't have been smiling if I knew how attached he'd get.

At the lockers.

"Yo, Nora. Wanna go out for dinner tonight? It's on me."

Between classes.

"Babes. Here's my number. Call me when you're lonely – if you get what I mean." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and and made a crude gesture with his hips as I brushed the number out of his hands.

At lunch.

"Doll – how about we have lunch together? I have enough for two."

"Fuck off."

"And so she speaks!" He said it so dryly that I was pretty sure I'd have to go home and water the flowers or something.

I groaned and took a sip from my water bottle (vodka) to gather my patience.

He slapped a three-layed sandwich on the table in front of me, taking a huge bite of his own. "C'mon, don't give up now!" He grabbed my bottle and took a gulp, pulling a face. "Straight vodka. Didn't expect that."

"Stop it," I snapped. I stood up and turned towards the cafeteria doors.

Patch laughed. "You should sit back down, angel. You leave and I'll tell the headmaster you've been sneaking vodka into school in your water bottle."

I snatched the bottle off the table and gulped down the last of it's contents.

Patch snorted. "They don't need the bottle for evidence, angel. They'll do a brethalyzer and you'll be more fucked than America."

I stood, stumped by the idiot who had tossed me his number way too many times.

"How 'bout we become friends?" He patted the seat beside him.

…

Needless to say that it'd been a long time since I'd had any form of human relationship, so lunch passed pretty quietly (I was dealing with the after-effects of my bloody vodka stunt) and I was out as soon as the bell went.

Patch glued himself to me, and I had to deal with the constant threat of adult intervention. It was easier to deal with him than to give up alcohol.

…

"Do you want a ride home?"

"C'mon, Nora. I'm not letting you walk."

I stopped moving. _I'm not letting you_. Did – did he actually care? His words made me cold in shock.

He jogged in front of me and placed a hand on each of my shoulders, steering me towards his bike.

…

It was an odd relationship. He irritated me but I was too hungover to say anything, but he also provided that human companionship that I'd forgotten existed for people like me. But it's a dog eat dog world, and I was waiting for him to come calling for his price.

…

I was at our lunch table maybe three weeks later, shoving grapes in my mouth and relishing in their sweetness when Patch flopped into the seat beside me.

"Dude, I'm totally fucking Marcie."

I shoved another grape into my mouth to avoid conversation, but it was as if they had suddenly turned bitter at his words.

Patch, who was used to me only answering him when it was something important, continued to display his excitement. "She asked me out this morning and _let me tell you this_, angel – she can have me any day. I mean it. Any fucking day."

I pushed another grape between my lips before offering him the pot. "Watch out for STDs."

"Watch out for alcohol poisoning." He grinned and proudly held his knuckle out for a fist bump, which I conceded to with an eye roll.

…

The next day at lunch and Marcie was pulling all the same tricks that she had with her previous toys (maybe Patch hand't witnessed them because he was a newbie?) and needless to say, I was becoming very uncomfortable. In all honesty Patch was the only person I had spoken to consistently for a long time, and even then he was putting in most of the leg work and maintaining the conversation (I would just eat his food); but now I was surrounded by a bunch of girls – in fact, I was surrounded by the same bunch of girls that'd waste their time sneering at me in the hallways – and I pretty much wanted to fade into the floor.

Clearly it was a kind of mutual agreement, because it appeared that Marcie wanted me to do the same thing.

I sat silently on my chair and scratched at the plastic table with the edge of my nail, trying to see how hard I could press before my nail snapped while simulatenously ignoring Marcie's groupies in the hopes that they'd disappear (or again, I could disappear – I wasn't particularly picky).

"Yo babe," Patch said, and to my horror both myself and Marcie looked up. Patch slapped one of his famous triple-tiered sandwiches in front of me and messily unwrapped his own, shoving about half of it into his mouth in one go.

Marcie's face appeared to be disgusted. "You bring food in for her?"

"Didn't think it was that obvious," I mumbled under my breath. I could tell that Patch's girlfriend had heard me when she shot me with a glare, but then she placed all of her attention back to her clueless _beloved_.

Patch laughed and shovelled more into his mouth. "Why, you want some?" He offered her the other half of his lunch.

"I don't eat carbs."

…

Marcie's presence had become a regular one at lunch. She hadn't made another comment about the sandwich thing again, but that didn't mean that she didn't have anything left to complain about.

"Yo, dude. You watched the football last night?"

I snored. "I fucking hate football, Patch."

"Why's that, babe? Any underlying reason I should know of?" He wiggled his eyebrows jokingly.

Marcie stood up and slapped her palms to the table. "That's it!"

The volume of the lunchroom had decreased as the people around us tried to listen in on the conversation that would surely ensue (believe me, by the volume of Marcie's voice was so loud that the only thing you wouldn't be able to hear her over would be a five marching bands and two obese elephants). I was pretty sure that Marcie was revelling in the attention of the lunch hall – the attention she didn't get from Patch when he spoke to me.

"You always hang around with _her_, and you always fucking call _her_ babe or some other _stupid_ pet name! Am I not your girlfriend, Patch?" Marcie was pointing at me wildly with one hand at her hip. Point your finger wherever you want, _babe_ – just please calm the hell down because speaking that squeakily is fucking with my hangover.

Patch looked towards Marcie, genuinely amused. "Oh, fuck off Marcie! I haven't said shit about you snogging Freddy Wickers." Patch actually laughed in her angry (embarassed) red face. "Don't think you can be so hypocrytical, _darling_."

Both of Marcie's hands were on her hips and her mouth hung open as she tried to formulate a response (something that I found incredibly hilarious, considering she was always one to talk too much and think too little). "The only reason I had to snog him is cous you're a terrible kisser!" She screamed, pulling her bag off the table and sauntering out of the lunch hall.

The noise of chatter resumed as Patch placed a foil-wrapped sandwich in front of me, pulling another out of his bag for himself.

…

"Marcie and I are back together," he told me the next morning.

"Great," I said dryly.

Patch jogged to catch up with me. "Don't you wanna hear what happened?"

"I don't care."

"Okay, so like she called me last night all upset and stuff and then she came to my house and _fucking hell_, I can see why I dated her – best blowjobs – and boom, we're back together."

"You're not the only one she's sucking off."

"Which works well with me, cous I'm only keeping her around for those lips. Someone else can spend money on her and I can reap the rewards."

I rolled my eyes and entered the classroom.

…

"So, angel…you going to the Christmas ball?"

I snorted. "Rather spend fourty quid on vodka than the ticket."

He rolled his eyes. "Well aware of that. I buy you a ticket, you go with me."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

Patch huffed. "I'll pay for the dress."

"No."

"You're missing out on something amazing here." He paused dramatically. "My company."

I shoved his face away as he cackled. Marcie approached the table and sat in Patch's lap, and I could only wonder why he asked me instead of her. It was less than a month away…maybe he thought they would have broken up by then?

…

I had known Patch for about a month and a half, and the Christmas ball was about two weeks away. I had just had my goodnight can of beer and was brushing my teeth when I heard raucous laughter from downstairs, followed by the sound of a door slamming.

Trotting down the steps, I peeked into the living room. My mum was on the couch, terrifyingly drunk, and a man had his hands up her skirt.

I couldn't hear anything aside from my heart racing in my ears and my hands started to become clammy…my vision was curling on the edges…

"Mum?" I croaked.

She didn't look up – if she couldn't hear me – was she even aware of this guy fondling her – my heart became heavy –

"Mum?"

The man appeared to be more sober than her and he shot me a glare…what was a person like this doing in my house? But I was painfully aware…painfully aware that I would not be able to stand up to someone that large…I too was drunk…and I was throwing up…

"I-I think you should go…" I heaved. There was saliva dripping off my chin and my head was pounding…worse than a hangover…

Mum couldn't hear me – _forced forced forced forced_ – was she being forced –

"I think you should go," I croaked again, and I was so scared…there was a stranger in my house and he had his fingers in my mother – I wasn't even sure if she could feel it – did she even know what was happening – did she know what was going on – I didn't – I didn't – I didn't –

The first time I had seen my mother in weeks – she's drunk – I'm crying – I'm crying so much...I can't hear anything…

The man stood up and strode over to me…his hand was on my upper arm, _pupils dilated_, eyes unfocused, "Get out," and his grip got harder and harder and all I could do was shake my head like the frightened child I was and then suddenly his hand was at my throat, "Get out," and I was staring into his eyes and scratching the back of his hand and my lungs were _burning_ and the only noise I could make was the chlick of my tongue and if this man was going to kill me then I wanted it to happen soon; I closed my eyes because his face was not the last thing I wanted to see…

…

Hands shaking – drop phone on floor – and again – again – wheezing – can't speak –

_Im scraed_

_Plese pcik me up_

_Patch_

_Plz_

_u no were I live_

_Come pick me pu_

The phone rung and I ignored the call -

_Pick me up_

_Cant talk_

Back to the door – barracade –

_Leaving now_

_B there in 10_

Hands shaking –

_Plz hury_

_Im scard_

_Call the police_

_Ill b there soon_

_Shud I call the police_

_Just hurry_

_…_

Shouting downstairs –

"Nora!" Patch yelled. "Nora, where are you?"

Open door – walk down steps –

"Nora! Nora–"

He hugged me hard –

"Thank God you're alright sweetheart, I was so scared." He pressed me closer and I whined at the back of my throat, my neck aching…he pulled away and I searched over his shoulder…where was that man…?

"It's okay Nora, my dad's dealing with it-"

But I had to check, just once – I had to see.

My mother was strewn on the couch, passed out, skirt pushed over her stomach…bruises…the man was pinned to the floor…someone else - Patch's father – held him down…

My vision was blurry through tears – lips wobbly – throat hurt too much to sob…I settled for low whines from the back of my throat as I rocked myself…

Patch pulled me back into his arms and swayed us together, and all I could think was that I was glad he didn't smell like alcohol.

…

I was in a golden dress two weeks later, hair pinned away from my face and a thick layer of make up over my neck.

"I've got the tickets. Let's go, gorgeous."

Patch's mum (Azealia) stopped us at the door. "Let me get some pictures first!"

Patch groaned. "Mum-"

"No arguing! Stand up straight, young man." Azealia adjusted our clothes and took two steps back. "Perfect!" She took some pictures. "Thank God you've got Nora. You might actually manage to win most attractive couple."

Patch groaned again. "Mum, we've got to go now."

"I need a picture of you kissing her, and then you can leave."

Patch's dad interrupted. "Let the kids go, Lia."

"But Nick-" she was also whining – just as Patch had done moments ago – and I couldn't help but snigger.

Azealia took another picture while I was laughing, and she grinned in satisfaction. "Your father just loves ruining my fun. But you two have a good night, and _please_ don't get too drunk."

"We won't," Patch promised, and I leant forward to give him a kiss on the cheek – may not have been the most opportune moment but I really did appreciate him – after everything that had happened –

I was praying that Azealia had taken a picture of the moment, because it was something I knew I would look back on and be happy about.

And if she hadn't? No matter. I leant even closer and gave Patch another kiss, this time on the lips…I could feel my cheeks flush under the make up…there was a relaxing buzz in my head, even more relaxing than the alcohol I used to drink.

I turned to Azealia, and she was looking at the photo she just took on the camera with an inconsolable grin on her face.

**A/N: Need more prompts pronto! :)**

**Thanks for the cute comments xx**


	26. Colours

**A/N: Quick background to this one-shot - it's the typical ****_you can't see colours until you've met your soul mate_**** AU.**

Number 26 - AU

Colours

The world was normal. The world was normal and then – one day - it wasn't.

A swirling mix of black and white and grey. The beautiful, if dull, sky. The birds chirping as they flew overhead. My nails, the colour 'Green With Envy' but grey to around seventy percent of the population (including myself).

A job interview that was too grey. Three other applicants in the waiting room whose records were white enough to be hired. My heart, which turned blacker with every failed attempt to lift myself out of poverty.

At the station, fiddling with my broken bag strap. The tube, stopping just in time.

I pushed my way through the crowd of people concentrated at the doors. I passed someone who was leaving the tube-

-I met eyes with theirs in the rush-

-and-

-_they were brown._

They stood after me at the station-

-the doors shut-

-we watched each other silently through the windows

and we each faded into the distance.

**A/N: Romance has been requested and I am currently trying to write some! (There will be some in a few chapters, mainly because there are a couple I have pre-written and adding on here whenever)**

**Do you guys prefer the earlier or later instalments?**

**Thanks for reading!**


	27. The Aftermath

Number 27

The Aftermath

**S**_-did you love her?_

**P**_-yes_

…

It was Christmas…we were dancing with my family, and she looked so beautiful, and I told her – I told her so many times.

"You look gorgeous," I told her, and she laughed and kissed the shoulder she was resting her forehead on.

"So you keep telling me." Her words were muffled by the cotton of my shirt and I couldn't help but pull her in closer, press my nose into her red hair, feel her comforting warmth in my arms. My heart was so loud, so content…I was strong.

…

New Years was spent with her friends. We laughed and laughed until our chests felt like they were about to explode and we drunk until there was danger of the breweries depleting. Her hand was in mine for the whole night…I couldn't stop telling her how much I love her…I couldn't stop thinking about how I was so ready to spend the rest of the year, like this, with her – the rest of my life with her…

We kissed and kissed until our lips were too swollen, _We're practising for the countdown_, she would insist, and press her lips to mine again…and again…the taste of cherries would always be hers.

…

**S**_-did she love you?_

**P**-_sometimes_

…

Christmas Eve and she wasn't in bed – it was the middle of the night, where was she? – and I found myself prowling my childhood home for her.

She was in the kitchen, talking to my closest friend and ex-neighbour Rixon (who had stayed the night since he couldn't get a ticket to his parents' new house in Spain in time for Christmas) – they were smiling and laughing and when I came to the door they leaned their heads away from each other and she ran her fingers through her hair as if she was fixing it.

She motioned me into the room but I couldn't help but hover at the door, uncomfortable – I couldn't help but feel as if I was interrupting something, which I knew was ridiculous since, well, what could I be interrupting?

But they were grinning suspiciously, and I couldn't help but wonder why.

…

On New Year's and it was moments before the countdown – the final minute and she'd said ten minutes ago that she was going to get a drink, but people were counting down from thirty and I still couldn't find her…

_21_

I pushed through some people who were a tad drunker than I was-

_18_

I tried to get into the kitchen and find her-

_14_

What if something had happened, was she okay?

_13_

She wasn't in the kitchen-

_10_

-or the dining room-

_7_

-or the bloody bathroom-

_5_

Where could she be?

_3_

I was back on the balcony-

_2_

And she was in the arms of my best friend-

_1_

-And they were kissing.

Fireworks littered the sky in jubilation.

…

**S**_-you deserve better_

**P**_-I just want her back_

**P_-_**_I want my girl back_

**P**_\- I love her so much dude_

**A/N: Heartbroken Patch breaks my heart.**

**Rixon is clearly a fucking sleaze but I loved writing this so much...yasss**

**I will post the next update when I get some comments! (yes, it has already been written)**

**xxx**


	28. Eyes

Number 28 - AU

Eyes

Nora was ill. Nora was terrifyingly ill.

Her whole life was a glorifyed countdown. There was no point in doing anything productive. She was going to die, anyway. She was going to die soon.

Her friend and 'roommate' (meaning they resided in the same hospital ward) was very bubbly.

"C'mon, Nors – where's that bucket list? I know there's tonnes of things you wanna do." Vee was adamant to cheer Nora up, even though Nora was just ready to die already. "Fecking hell, babes. When was the last time you listened to them twats anyway? They all just talk bollocks. You know that." Nora did know that. Nora knew that giving up wasn't helping anyone, but she was tired of getting told she was going to die – she was tired of waiting for it to happen. "Okay," Vee said, pulling Nora's notebook off the white dresser. "Here it is! Blahblahblah – oooh, you wanna dye your hair!" Vee looked up to Nora's bare head. "Alright, scrap that one." Vee hummed as she read down the list. "Saucy. Wanna kiss a boy at midnight."

Vee closed the notebook with finality. "We're gonna sneak a guy in here and he's gonna kiss you at midnight."

"Do whatever you want." Nora sighed and shifted into the fetal position.

"Ah – sleeping to get all of that stamina for your steamy kiss." Vee winked. "I got ya, chicha."

Nora couldn't help her smile, and Vee smirked proudly, clapping Nora on the back.

…

One of the nurses woke Nora up for dinner and her family surrounded her. Both of her parents (legally separated but together with her, right now) sat on either side of her.

They placed a paper bag in her lap. "Open it," her father said with an enouraging smile.

It had taken a while for him to get to that point. He was sad. He was sad and he partially blamed himself for Nora's illness, which was ridiculous and selfish, in a warped kind of way – almost like he was seeking attention. Nora knew that wasn't the case, but having too much free time let her pessimistic imagination run riot.

Nora pulled out a wrapped burger and fries with a grin. "Thanks, guys." She took a bite out of the burger as her mother began to speak to her.

Another thing about her father – her had filed a divorce against Blythe without giving her a reason why, only for her to find out that he was ill and trying to be valiant by sparing her the heartache of the death he was sure he was going to have.

Clearly he wanted the last memories his ex-wife and daughter had of him to be shitty. Shame he didn't die.

Nora ate half of her greasy dinner, leaving the rest for Vee. Her parents left at the end of visiting time, and they kissed her forehead as if it was to be their last chance to do so.

It was a matter of moments. They didn't know if Nora would be there in the morning.

…

Vee was shaking Nora's shoulder. "Nors, wake up!"

Nora sat up blearily. "Loose bowels?"

Vee slapped Nora's shoulder. "You promised not to mention that!" she hissed. "Get your arse outside. Go. Shoo."

Knowing Vee would pester her if she didn't, Nora slid off the bed. "You owe me."

"Actually my dear, _you_ owe _me_."

Nora walked through the room by memory and pawed out the door handle. She opened it a crack and slid out of it, trying not to get light into the room and wake anyone up.

There was person sitting against the opposite wall. Nora closed the door quietly and looked around, wondering why Vee forced her out of bed.

Vee wanted her pillow. Fucking bitch.

"What's your name?" The guy asked. He was what – late teens, early twenties? And everything was black. It really stood out from the painful white walls she was so used to seeing.

"Nora."

The guy nodded and motioned to the place beside him.

Fuck it. Nora took the spot and her legs instantly turned cold against the tile.

"I'm Patch. It's almost midnight."

"Great observation," Nora said, yawning.

He looked up at her. "Almost midnight. Don't you get it?"

Nora scrunched her nose up. "Not really."

He sighed. "Vee texted me about your bucket list."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"This isn't community service. You can go home."

"Nah. This is great. Get to kiss a cute girl without taking her on a date."

Cute? Girls without hair weren't cute. Girls with weird bruises everywhere weren't _cute_.

Nora was stumped. She sat against the wall in silence, staring at the ceiling and praying for the night to be over.

"I think I'll go back to bed."

Patch smirked. "I came all this way and you're going back to bed? I'm hurt."

Nora settled back down beside him. "I'm not desperate," she said after a moment, feeling the need to explain herself. "I don't know why Vee told you any of that. It was just one of those things that I never thought was going to happen, anway. And I meant it more like a kiss-at-midnight on New Year's or something."

"We can do that, too." Patch was calm and he too was gazing at the wall opposite. His voice had a light tone to it that made him easy to talk to.

"Why are you here? Like, seriously."

Patch's eyes flitted to her briefly. "I was told that there would be a gobby cute girl who needed a snog and that pretty much sums up my type."

"That's not a reason."

"It's my reason." Patch was staring at the opposite wall again and Nora was sure that she wasn't going to get more out of him.

Something beeped on his phone and he turned the screen for her to see.

"Midnight," he said.

"It's okay if you don't want to kiss me." Nora began to feel embarrassed. She wasn't pretty or cute or any of those things – she wasn't worth the drive Patch took to reach here. She wasn't even worth the petrol money.

"And if I do?" A small, knowing smile curved his lips and it made Nora blush the faintest pink.

"That's okay, too."

Almost in slow motion, Patch reached for her chin. He angled it slightly, his thumb caressing her lips, as if he was charting the territory.

He leant forward slowly. Hats off to him – Nora thought he looked like a hit-it-and-quit-it guy, but he was taking her time with her. Perks of being a resident in the children's ward.

"You have the prettiest eyes, you know that?"

Nora's blush burned brighter. "Thank you."

"Some types of beauty fade – but-but your beauty…it's eternal, Nora. Remember that."

He pressed his lips to hers and Nora gasped. One of her hands went to his neck to hold him in place. He was warm – his lips were slightly chapped and his stubble burned her cheeks, and her heart raced.

There was something deeply intimate in the way he kissed her. Slowly, gently – as if he was kissing someone he knew and not a girl he just met. His thumb was gentle on her cheekbone and they silently parted, heaving for air.

Nora's eyes fluttered open to meet his. He was still thumbing her cheekbone, eyes drinking in her features.

"Can I see you again? Tomorrow, same time, same place?"

Nora nodded, still struck dumb by his kiss. He smiled gently and stood up, helping her to her feet.

She shuffled back towards the room with the beds, looking back at him as he was leaving. They shared a smile and Nora opened the door, plunged in darkness.

**A/N: Reminded me a lot of that Ed Sheeran song where he's like yeah lads lets fall in love with eyes bc eyes r forever (what's it even called again? I can't even remember the lyrics properly loollll)**

**Was gonna write more but Im lazy**

**Thanks for the comments (ayeee DragonSlayer)! More comments = faster updates xox**


	29. Conversations

Number 29

Conversations Between Patch and His Acquainted Therapist

"Tell me what's been worrying you, Patch."

Patch shifted uneasily in his seat, picking at the knee of his jeans, his eyes darting anywhere that was below Artimes' eyes.

The silence was long. Patch hated silences. He yearned to fill them with something, and he yearned to say the words he hadn't been able to say to anyone before…

"Nora."

"Tell me about her."

Patch's eyes darted to Artimes' for a spilt second, almost as if he was checking for sincerity, before they landed back on his feet. "Uh – um – she was – well, we-" Patch took a deep breath. "We used to date, for, um, well – we broke up on our third anniversary."

"When was that?"

"M-maybe a year ago? Uh – on the 29th of November." Patch was uncertain about talking, as if he didn't think his words were important enough to be listened to. Artimes jotted down the word _anxiety_ on his clipboard before he looked back up.

"A year ago? That's a long time," Artimes said smoothly. "Why is this bothering you now?"

Patch picked into his jeans and a small hole formed. "I-I still love her…is that bad?"

"It's never bad to love someone, Patch. But you have to remember that you have to take care of yourself first."

Patch nodded agreeably, "I think that, um, I loved her more than I loved me. I-" He broke off, as if remembering he had an audience.

Patch suddenly snorted. "Fucking pathetic, right?" He rubbed at his cheeks roughly with the sleeve of his denim jacket, smearing the tears before clearing his throat. Artimes offered him the tissue box, but Patch instead grabbed one of the complimentary toffees off the table and hoped they'd glue his mouth shut, screw his teeth together, choke him to death…_death by toffee_.

Artimes filled the silence. "It's never pathetic to love someone. Never."

"It can be," Patch argued, "I-I mean, s-s-she fucking took _everything_, everything I had…" Patch took a shallow breath, "And I gave it to her! I fucking – fucking handed her in a case of gold, I-" Patch took a tissue and blew his nose, "I worshipped her, but," Patch's throat twisted painfully, "I wasn't enough."

Artimes scrawled something on his clipboard.

The clock ticked in the stuffy silence.

"I-it's like, it's like she wanted someone else entirely, but, um – she just settled for me. _Settled_ for me! S-she wanted a cold glass of water, and I fanned it for her, I tried _so hard_ – and suddenly there's a new guy, and he comes along with fucking ice, and she leaves me, after three years of loving her." Patch sobbed into his sleeves, hunched over his chair. "I-I've loved her for s-so long. I-I don't know if I can do it anymore. I tried _so hard_ for her."

Artimes' voice was gentle. "When was the last time you tried for you?"

"T-t-tried for me? T-there's no point. Nothing to t-try for."

"Nothing? I can name some things, Patch. Tell me your achievements."

"B-being a major pussy."

Artimes laughed. "You really think of yourself like that? Want to know what I see? I see a young, talented artist who graduated from Oxford with a one-one. I see a young man who loves deeply-"

"You're wrong. I-if I had, I wouldn't have tried to – to-" Patch broke off woth a sob. His fingers were itching below his sleeve and stroking his scarred wrist.

"People go through tough times in their lives, Patch. But you're trying. You're succeeding."

"I'm not."

"You are," Artimes argued. "You're here and you're trying you're hardest to feel better. That's succeeding."

"T-trying isn't succeeding."

"Tell me, Patch. When you applied to Oxford, did you try to get in?"

"Yes."

"And then you got in. You succeeded. Success doesn't happen without effort, Patch.

"You're halfway there."

Patch sobbed into his sleeves, biting down on the denim when he got too loud.

If trying was succeeding, then he would try to get over Nora. He would succeed.

**A/N: The Aftermath is still my fave one-shot...which one is yours?**

**What's everyone doing for Christmas?**


	30. Conversations Pt2

**A/N: Part 2! Set before the events of Pt 1**

Number 30

Conversations Between Patch and His Acquainted Therapist (Part 2)

"I'm gonna ask her to marry me, Rixon – I swear to God I am. She's it for me."

Rixon slurped at his coffee to hide his grin. "Well done, mate. Don't know why you had to call me out here, though. Coulda told me over the phone."

I slapped him upside the head and dropped a tip onto the table. "C'mon," I told him. "You're gonna help me find her ring. S'gotta be perfect."

He rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling happily. I knew he was proud. "A'giht, Romeo. Just lemme get my coat on."

…

"What if she says no?"

I could hear the static from the other side of the reciever – a good indication that he was huffing; probably irritated. "You seriously think she'll say no, dude? You guys're crazy for each other. She ain't gonna say no."

"I'm so fucking nervous-"

"Good," Rixon said. "A bitta nerves are healthy. You got the ring?"

I pressed my phone between my shoulder and my ear and squeezed my suit pockets, feeling out for that little black box. "Yeah."

"Got everything else ready? Looking good?"

"Yeah, uh, I did my hair the way she likes it."

Rixon snorted, "She likes your hair however. Patch, you're ready dude. Better not pussyfoot out of this one."

"I won't."

"You sure though, dude? Entirely sure?"

"I'm crazy for her."

More like crazy without her.

…

She was running late.

On our anniversary.

I tried to call her again, but the call went straight to the answer machine.

Needless to say, I was worried.

_Hey, it's Nora. Please leave a message!_

"Hey, babe. I'm just getting a bit worried…you were supposed to be home two hours ago? Please just call me back when you get this."

I had discarded my suit already. I took the chance to sling my tie over the back of the sofa and loosen the top few buttons of my shirt.

It was half seven. We'd missed the fucking dinner reservation that I'd pre-paid for. Guess that was two hundred quid down the drain.

I would always have another chance to propose to her. I wasn't worried about that. What did worry me was her absence - she usually texted me if she was going to be late home. Was she alright?

Pacing over the living room carpet, I threw my phone between my hands. Should I call her again? Maybe she would pick up this time? But surely she would just call me back once she'd seen the missed call anyway?

Another hour and a half in limbo…another half dozen calls to Nora…

She wasn't at her mother's, or her best friend's – I had called her favourite diner and she wasn't there either.

I wanted to go and search for her, but what if she came home while I was gone? She had clearly fucking forgotten what a phone was. And where would I look, anyways? I had already called up all of the places I would expect her to be.

The sound of the key in the door, and I rushed towards it. I was just about ready to hug her and then shout at her.

She walked into our house, hair wayward and purse slung over her shoulder. She was wearing a mens tracksuit I'd never seen before and she was avoiding my eyes.

A man slid into our house behind her, but I ignored him.

"Angel, you're safe!" I grabbed her and squeezed her until the warmth of her body reassured me. "You worried me so much. Don't do that again, Nora." I squeezed her tighter and closed my eyes, burying my face in her hair so I could smell her cherry shampoo…

She struggled in my grip and I let her go. "Stop it, Patch." She brushed her hair out of her face and she still wouldn't look at me. The blonde man walked up behind her and put his arm over her shoulder.

"This doesn't have to be difficult," she told me nervously, melting into his arms. "I have to go, Patch."

"Go?" My eyes were flitting between her and this man. "You have to go?"

"I have to go, Patch."

Sand was gritty on my tongue. "When will you be back?" I tried to take a step towards her, but she pulled herself away.

"I won't be." The man kissed her forehead. "We're over, Patch."

"Over?"

"Yes," she told me. "Yes, we're over."

I tried to scan her for lies, but… "L-look at me. Look at me. Th-then tell me – tell me we're over."

She looked up at me. "I didn't want to hurt you, Patch – I swear, I just, you weren't what I was after, and Baruch – he's great, you guys would get on so well – I just want to be happy, Patch, and you can be happy too – please don't get upset over this, Patch, I still love you, just – just not how I did before." She took a step out of his arms and a step closer to me. "I'm sorry, Patch."

"You still love me." I couldn't comprehend what she was saying.

"But differently," she told me. She reached up to touch my face, but her hands dropped to her sides.

"You don't love me."

"I-I do, Patch. I really do."

"What did I do wrong? I-I'll change, I swear – just give me the chance, Angel-"

"I don't want you anymore."

"Don't-" my throat spasmed. "Don't want me?"

"We were casual, Patch. Did you really think we would have a life together?"

"Casual? B-but we live together. Hardly casual-"

"I'm not going to tie myself down to an artist. I know you love it, but do you really think art would do anything for you? You'll hardly be able to get a job."

"I'll get two jobs. I'll get you whatever you need, Nora – I'm devoted to you. I'm completely yours."

She bit her lip, as if pained. "I'm not yours though, Patch. We had a good run – we really did. But I need to go."

"No-"

Then the man, the person who stole the love of my life, decided to chip in his piece. "Listen dude, you're a poor, depressed piece of shit. You really think you could make Nora happy? You don't have money. And if she ever wants kids, they'll probably turn out fucked in the head just like you."

His words ebbed in the background, but I couldn't take my focus off my darling. My darling who hadn't opposed what he'd said. "I'll ditch art," I told her, because I really loved her more than anything. I loved her more than the thing I had prayed I would be able to study for the rest of my days. "I'll retrain – I'll become a doctor, or a lawyer-" anything to make her happy-

A tear dripped down her cheek. "I don't love you anymore, Patch. Not like that." She walked past me into the house, and the man took the cardboard boxes he'd been dragging around and followed her.

I don't know how long I stood there in stark shock. "Stay safe, Patch," she said, after taking loads of full boxes out of our house, closing the door behind her.

It clicked and her key blinked in my periphery. It sat on the table.

…

"I think he's waking up. Nick, he's waking up!"

"Calm down, sweetheart. Let's just give him a minute. He's probably confused."

I blinked a couple of times and my eyes came into focus. My parents sat in a white plastic chair. The floor was white tile and the plain covers were cool on my skin.

"Mum? Dad?" I croaked.

"Baby!" My mum came to the bed and sat by my side. "Oh, baby-" her face was buried in her hands as she sobbed.

My dad came to stand by my side. "You had us all worried, kiddo. Good to see you're okay."

Gulping, "Dad, I…"

He ran a hand over my head and gave me a look of understanding. "I know, son. I know." He pulled me into his strong arms, his warmth reaching my insides and I pressed my head to his shoulder. Breathe.

We were both silent as the sound of my mother's sobs soothed me to sleep again from where I lay in my father's arms. I couldn't even feel the deep lacerations I'd inflicted on my wrists. I couldn't really feel anything.

**A/N: This clearly needed a part 2!**

**Just wanted to say that I'm struggling really badly with a Christmas themed one...so any prompts? srsly otherwise I wont be able to write one!**

**Ausilin xox**


	31. Seducing the Baker Boy

Number 31, AU

Seducing The Baker Boy

"Yo! Baker Boy! Grab me a muffin."

Patch grabbed a blueberry muffin, shoved it into a paperbag rather carelessly (excuse him, he was pissed) and pressed it into the customer's hand after taking the money.

His name wasn't really Baker Boy – obviously – and he didn't really know where the name orginated from, but he was very willing to say that it was the single most annoying thing that had happened to him. Gone was the constant embarrassment of working in the pinkest teashop in town. He was living the nightmare of being called Baker Boy wherever he went.

He was pretty happy that people couldn't recognise him too often without the pink frilly apron wrapped around his waist, but on the rare occasion it did happen, he brought up one of his many lame excuses. The first was to act dumb as if you had no idea (you could only use this if the person wasn't sure themselves), the second was to act really surprised and the third was to embrace it (Patch could only really use this one if he was drunk).

After getting his A-Levels, Patch knew university wasn't exactly in the horizon when he had nobody to fund him. With the amount a student could loan decreasing and accomodation prices increasing, Patch decided a smarter move would be working for a year or two, putting money into the bank and applying to university at a later stage.

Working in Crafty Cakes wasn't exactly in the horizon either, but you work with what you've got. And fortunately for him, Hannah (the boss) had decided that a pretty face at the front counter would bring in more customers – but this quite obviously lead to an overworked, underfed Patch.

Perks of working in a bakery is that you could swipe yourself a crossiant for lunch when nobody was looking.

It was nearing the afternoon rush, when the nearby schools would break out for the day and children would roam wild over the lands like zombie hoards. Patch took a loo break and ran his fingers through his hair, fixing up the wayward strands so he would look more presentable.

He served mums with small children, young teenagers, older teenagers with a sweet tooth…and one delicious red head.

She came by almost every day. Fucking gorgeous red curls that danced just below her shoulder and cupid-bow lips. She had the sweetest voice.

And she was a flirt.

He wasn't sure if it was purposeful or not, to be honest. She would bite her lips while looking at the glass jars of baked goods and she would always_, always_ be curling a red strand about her finger.

"What would you like to order?" Patch asked her (pretty glad he had fixed his hair earlier).

She looked at the baked goods in contemplation, tapping her chin. "You."

Patch spluttered. She wasn't looking his way and he wasn't sure if she said what he'd heard – was it just wishful thinking? – and he said, "Excuse me?" after fixing himself up.

"You," she said, making eye contact. "But if that isn't on on the menu, then a slice of this lemon tart would be great."

Patch readied a paper bag and sliced through the thick tart.

"Here you go," he said, handing it over to her and cashing it up on the machine.

She grinned something wicked. "Didn't work?" she said in that rose-tinted voice of hers. "Guess I'll just have to try harder."

She left the store and a huge tip. Patch grinned before serving the next customer.

_Bring it on. _

…

Patch didn't see the girl the next day, which was a shame because he was harried and seeing her was usually his energy boost.

Unfortunately for him, some of the coworkers had started to notice Patch's habit of fixing himself before the wave of students.

"Why do you do it, Patch?" Rixon said in a smug tone. "Oh, I'll find out. I swear to God."

Patch gritted his teeth to stop himself from grinning. "Fuck off, Rixon."

"Oooh – Baker Boy's pissed!" Rixon sniggered teasingly. "This is gonna be awesome."

Patch flipped off his coworker and slid back behind the counter, mentally readying himself for the wave of customers that would persist for the next two hours.

…

It was Friday, and Patch was buzzing for the weekend. Just a few more hours to get through at work, then he could blow the day's wage on cheap alcohol and random girls (counterproductive considering the reason he took the job, but excuse him for being human).

Patch served another snotty toddler who'd come in with their parents. Kids were cute and all, but leaving greasy handprints on the glass display cases really was _not_ cute.

"Long day?"

Patch looked up towards the beautiful red head. She'd just caught the tail of the dinner rush; she'd just caught him while he was cursing out his boss.

Best way to pull a girl. Sweaty and stressed.

He tried to lowkey wipe some of the sweat from his brow while she scanned the desserts, but only God knew whether or not she noticed.

"What are you planning on ordering?" He asked.

"Oh!" she said, her eyes darting away from the chocolate brownie stack. "I'm just looking. I'm actually here for something else." There was something deep in her eyes that indicated exactly what she was after.

Patch couldn't stop his grin. "What else could you get from a bakery?" His voice had taken a flirty lilt.

"I think the question is, what could _you_ get from a bakery," she said with a small smirk, pulling a bouquet of flowers out of her rucksack and presenting them to him over the counter.

Patch was sure that if he was the blushing type, he'd be redder than blood. Some customers were taking notice of the flowers and damn it to hell if it was embarrassing. Tulips?

"Are you being serious?"

She waved the tulips teasingly. "If I had a garden, I'd put your two lips and my two lips together." She had a faint blush on her cheeks, as if she'd taken a lot of time gathering the courage to say the words.

There was a tick of silence while Patch stood there, gobsmacked. She stood there awkwardly, still holding the flowers over the counter; Patch couldn't stop himself.

He guffawed. His body bent in two as he laughed. A lone tear slid down his cheek and he was snorting as if coke was being wafted under his nose.

"Oh God, please say this is real," he said between the subsiding chuckles. Her cheeks were flushed (embarrassed), but she seemed to be enjoying Patch's laughter. Patch reached over to take the flowers and her smile widened.

"Thanks," he said.

"Well," she said zipping up her bag, smirking at her success, "Ball's in your court. Call me, _Baker Boy_."

The nickname from her lips wasn't half that bad…and she had some buns he'd love to knead. _Holy fuck did I actually use a baking pun I hate myself_, Patch thought.

She left the queue and Patch was left in a moment of confusion, until he read the little note on the bouquet:

_Something's wrong with your phone._

_It doesn't have my number in it._

_Nora xx_

**A/N: Because boys deserve flowers too :)**


	32. Presents

Number 32, AU

Presents

The tree looked downright gorgeous.

Nora was glad she had Patch. They'd had a rough year…but it was Christmas. They'd actually made it to Christmas.

A fake plastic tree with mounds of cheap tinsel…a star made out of tin foil…baubles that were actually glittery pinecones (mix half PVA glue and half glitter to make the perfect glitter glue) and a house with intermittent heating…

And of course, her beautiful fiancee who was busy fussing over the Christmas dinner.

"Angel," he said from the kitchen, nervously walking to the lounge. "I kinda fucked up the food."

He looked downright guilty, almost as if he thought he'd ruined Christmas…but nothing could ruin today for Nora.

She laughed. "It's okay, babe. We can fix it later." A smile was permanently fixed on her face, her lips pink from her chapstick.

He bit his lip, relaxing once he realised that Nora wasn't upset with him. "What's got you so smiley?" he asked.

His smile was small and pained. Nora knew exactly how she felt, In deciding that they wanted to be together, they had to leave their home. Their families. They had to run away – they had to run away like loving each other was wrong.

Maybe it was. Nothing that was this painful – nothing that left Nora weeping at night – could be right.

But Nora felt right when she was standing at Patch's side. She felt right when they were on the couch and throwing Malteasers into each others mouths. She felt right when he was making love to her, and when he was holding her close afterwards.

Her smiled widened as she stood up. "I think I want to give you your present early," she said.

He smirked coyly. "Is that so?"

Slapping his arm with a laugh, "It's nothing like that, Patch! It's better."

"What can be better than sex?" he said teasingly, tapping his chin as if he was musing over the answer.

She bit her lip, trying to hold back her grin.

"I'm pregnant!"

His expressions dropped.

She laughed. "I'm pregnant, Patch!" she grabbed his hands and swung them around.

"You're pregnant?" he said dumbly. "Angel, say it again."

"I'm pregnant," she said through a giggle. "Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant," she sang.

"Fuck," he said. "Fuck, are you sure?" A grin was getting birthed on his face, his eyes twinkling.

She was grinning right back. "I'm sure. Patch, I'm sure."

"You're pregnant?" he repeated. "Fuck, Nora – you're _pregnant_."

He placed his hands on her hips, moving to his knees. "Is there something there? Fuck, there's something there," he said, staring at her stomach. He moved her shirt up and pressed his ear to her abdomen.

"You won't hear the baby yet!" Nora said with a delighted squeal.

Patch shushed her, pressing a kiss above her navel. "Wow," he breathed. He looked up at Nora.

"Merry Christmas, babe," she said, running her fingers through his hair.

He grinned back. "Merry Christmas, Angel."

**A/N: First of my Christmas bonanza! Thanks for the prompt, guys!**

**I need more prompts to write more chapters (there are no prewritten ones because I'm lacking ideas!)**

**I hope to update daily in the countdown to Christmas and probably up until New Year's, so please give me ideas otherwise I can't do that**

**xxx Ausilin**


	33. Still

Number 33

Still

Scars.

Hundreds and hundreds of scars. Long, sloping marks that criss-cross all over my body. No amount of make-up can hide the chunky scar tissue on my face. No amount of tattooing can cover the deep ridges marring my worn skin.

Ugly.

The scarring is ugly.

Beautiful.

I was beautiful. I was a model. People would pay me because I was beautiful. Think of that, huh? A career born from beauty. To fall so far. For the same people who used to look at my naked body on magazine covers with awe, now hiding their faces from me almost awkwardly. Trying to hide the pity. Attempting to shoot glances at me from the corner of their eye to sate their curiousity.

Whispers.

They follow me everywhere. They wonder what happened to me to make me so distasteful. So unattractive in every sense of the word.

Let me tell you what happened.

I am the third daughter of a man called Hank Millar. I am a bastard. My father cheated with my mother to create me, and by the time I was made the lust had faded into a sweltering distaste.

I have a boyfriend. He is older than I am. He is older than a lot of people are. But he looks young. He has a young face and flawless skin and sharp bones in his face that make him look very angular and beautiful. Sometimes when I stand next to him, people think I am his hired help.

Nobody that beautiful would settle for someone so marked.

Some people don't question it. Perhaps they think I am paying for his services.

Maybe if I hadn't been so beautiful before, I would have gone to university. I wish I went to university.

My boyfriend is very beautiful. He is very smart. But he is also a liar. He is a cheater. He tricks people. He sometimes hurts people. People don't like him.

My boyfriend loved me a lot. And the people who didn't like him knew that. They also knew that my beauty was important to me.

They took it away.

I am ugly now and I don't think my boyfriend could ever like me again.

He says he loves me still. But when he says it, when he says, 'I love you still,' I wonder…why 'still'?

Why _still_?

Because I am not beautiful anymore.

He sees it too.

He is dealing with damaged goods now.

We're driving down a dangerous road, and he will offload me at the next petrol station. I am sure of it.

**A/N: How do you guys see it? Is Patch being sincere when he says he loves Nora, or was his love linked to how attractive she was?**

**Is Nora just being a wee bit self-conscious? (don't blame her I mean dayum that's terrible)**

**BTW thank you for the prompt! I'm writing it now, but as you can probably tell I'm terrible with mushy stuff so it's taking me ages! lol**


	34. Soup

Number 34, (set early book 1)

Soup

I'm getting antsy and I hate it.

Okay so she's my fucking target, not my friend? So why in the hell am I standing outside her door with a cup of chicken soup from Benzo's and too much worry?

I was in deep. Fattening up the girl I was planning on killing? Fucking hell.

I was in Bio, as usual, and I was waiting for her to take her seat beside me, as usual, but then she didn't turn up (unusual) and her friend Vee Sky walked in on her own (unusual) and now I'm outside the house of an ill Nora Gray with soup to make her feel better.

Really fucking unusual.

But I knew my worry wasn't misplaced. If I had gathered anything from following Nora around in my free time, it was that she did not skip days of school without an excuse. And that her mum worked a lot. Surely getting into her house meant getting more intel?

Goddamnit I knew I was fucking myself over with these shitty excuses. This wasn't about being an angel anymore. This was about making sure she was okay.

I wasn't sure at what point I had decided to be her bodyguard instead of her murderer, but if there was one thing I knew it was that I didn't want to regret anything. I didn't want to go ahead and fuck shit up because it was what I thought I was supposed to do. I had regretted many things in my expansive lifetime, and all of those things were killing me.

If killing her would kill me, then she could live.

It was settled. I shifted the soup into my other hand and knocked onto the door.

What if she's asleep? Or too ill to answer the door? Her bedroom was on the second floor and I'd had my fair share of experience in scaling houses.

Ah, fuck. Humans got too creeped out when people did shit like that. Especially to their flippant Bio partner.

The fact that I was considering how she would feel should have rung alarm bells, but it didn't. Instead I just rung the doorbell again.

I could hear movement on the other side of the door and it swung open. Her challenging hair was frizzy over her shoulders, her eyes were lidded (not with lust, you dirty bastards) and her cheeks were an unhealthy pale.

As soon as she saw me, I knew she was considering shutting the door in my face. She didn't.

Blame politeness. Or naivety.

"You look just dazzling, Angel. Really great."

She pulled a face but seemed too tired to snap back. "Please leave."

"After I bought you soup? You wound me, Angel."

Ignoring the nickname, she ran a hand down her face. "Fine. Come in." She stepped out of the doorway and all I could think was how easy it was.

By God I could kill her right now. I could grab the umbrella stand and smash it over her head. I could strangle her. I could stab her.

Or, I could – as I did – give her the soup and watch her reheat it in the microwave.

"You should sit down," I told her, and cursed myself afterwards.

She sighed and appeared to be swaying slightly. "Yeah, I think I should."

I led her into her living room, an arm around her waist so she wouldn't trip, and brought her the soup when it was all warmed up, feeling too much like a housewife and hoping she wouldn't mention it (got an ego I don't plan on forfietting).

"Thanks," she said, taking the soup and sipping.

She had no more objections as we watched some shitty films for the rest of the day.

Thankfully, she ignored my 'stealthy' coddling and took it in her stride.

**A/N: This is from the prompt I received a while ago!**

**I know it's actually really terrible, but...idk...I'm a terrible writer?**


	35. Businessmen and Supermodels

Number 35, AU

Businessmen and Supermodels

Try again. Patch and Nora just needed to try again.

But why would they? Nora was married to a business man and Patch was married to a supermodel. They were happy. Try again…would they ever have the chance to try again?

Maybe they would. Maybe one day, Patch and his wife would have a disagreement. Maybe they would separate. Maybe Nora would become bored of her cheating husband. Maybe she would stray.

Maybe they would find each other again.

Maybe they'd meet in a coffee shop. They would order their respective drinks and laugh about how they remembered the other's order. They would sit beside each other, recounting days of happiness – how happy they made each other. Maybe they would discuss Nora's move back into town; the reason they broke up. Maybe they would exchange numbers and end the impromptu date with a kiss.

Maybe Nora would leave her husband. He would be sad, but he would use an abundance of warm bodies to replace Nora's. Maybe Patch and his wife would never reconcile. She would be happy, because the days of fighting would be over.

Maybe Patch and Nora would have the oppurtunity to try again.

Or maybe – just maybe – after the argument with his wife, Patch went to a pub. Maybe Nora went to the coffee shop along the road.

Maybe they would never find each other again.

Maybe Patch would get marriage counselling with his partner. Maybe Nora would reclaim her title of 'doormat.'

Maybe they never would get the chance to try again.

**A/N: I write because I love it, but comments would still be nice. I was thinking of opening this book up to any character one-shots? Would anyone even want that (I mean I don't really ship anyone else in the book together but it's always fun to write about other characters)**

**This one was actually so much fun to write! Whoop**


	36. Robin Hood

Number 36, AU (kinda think about the Robin Hood/Merlin TV show era)

Robin Hood

Maybe being a biased helper of the poor is as bad as being a rich, stingy bastard.

Patch didn't care, though. He was running away from some house he just looted - they hadn't noticed yet, but the guards would realise soon - and his coat was flapping around his torso. Fucking stolen goods never fit right.

Maybe he would take his jacket to the pretty seamstress...an idea formed in his mind and he grinned before refocusing himself on his escape. Dreams about a certain beauty's long legs would have to happen at some other time - perhaps when he'd have a moment or two to entertain them.

Patch never ran directly back home, otherwise the well-off would realise who was committing the 'crimes' after following him or something. He always made his way to the forest, shed his clothes to something less black and ordinary before he took off back into the village. He would drop the goods off at people's houses when they weren't looking or just leave them at the doorstep.

His identity was a secret, but that didn't stop people from talking about the Man in the Mask who would steal from the rich and give to the poor. It was less _stealing_ and more the redistribution of wealth, but it did manage to give Patch an adrenaline rush.

The gorgeous seamstress was the first to have a small mound of coins placed on her front step. Then came the larger families, maybe the people taking care of the ill or elderly - there was a slight rotation Patch followed so he wouldn't leave anyone out.

The seamstress really was beautiful. She was hardworking and her red hair was frayed around her face in a hot mess, and she looked after her older brother who was a victim of war.

The poor being placed as soldiers while the rich controlled their movements - they were _sick_, disgusting, treating people different just because of _class_ of all things!

There were many people after the seamstress' hand - _Nora Gray's hand_ \- but she was quick to reject them, having a whole fusillade of excuses perfect for each and every one of the villagers proposals.

She was yet to reject Patch.

After he did his rounds, Patch approached her door.

It took a while for her to open it, and she was clearly busy; when she did come to the door, her apron was untied and she had a large lock of hair messily out of place.

"Patch!" she said. "Oh, do come in - I'm sorry, I'm just crazy busy today, I swear -"

"I'm low maintenance, Angel. Don't you mind me."

She giggled and tucked some of her hair out of the way, relaxing and moving to let Patch through the door. He shook his head.

"I know you're busy, sweetness; I don't want to take up any of your time. I just want to give you this." He pulled a slightly wilted flower from his pocket - damaged in transit - and presented it to her with a flourish.

"Fuck - sorry - I didn't think it'd get squished..." Patch looked sheepishly at Nora, who was blushing a deep colour.

She took the flower from his hand. "It's beautiful," she said. "I love it."

_Not as much as I love you. _"It doesn't hold anything to your beauty, gorgeous."

If anything, Nora's face turned darker. "Thank you," she said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

...

It was bad. Very bad.

Patch was running. He didn't know where to go. There were people waiting in the forests, he was sure. He couldn't risk looking over his shoulder, but he could hear the sound of tens of pairs of feet slapping against the bumpy road.

He was a goner.

Someone came from his side, throwing him to the ground - he struggled - pushed him off - and then there was someone else - and someone else - he was restrained, _face to the ground_ \- couldn't breathe properly - tasted the dirt, coughed it out, couldn't _breathe_ -

People were pressing down on his lower back, and he was sure that if he moved it would be broken. Someone slammed the butt of their weapon onto his face, and he was glad in that moment that his mask was one of leather - at least it took some of the blow. But then they hit harder and harder and it no longer mattered because he doubted the little bit of hurt the mask was relieving him of really mattered.

He couldn't even struggle. He was pressed so firmly into the ground that he couldn't even _breathe_ \- how would he be able to struggle?

"Leave him," someone said smoothly, and Patch's heart soared for a moment. "Let the people see what happens when you dance around in masks and steal from me. Let us show them."

Patch was hauled up by his upper arms and the men turned back towards the village.

...

He was frogmarched through the village, his mask covering his face, enough to entice the people to follow the entourage of guards - they didn't need the petty threats Hank Millar was spitting out to get them to follow him.

The passed the seamstress' house and Patch hoped and prayed she was inside, maybe sewing - her machine would be too loud to her the commotion. But she wasn't - she was hanging the washing outside, and as soon as she looked up...

There was an electric recognition in her face. She could tell who he was - just from looking at his body - is that how well they knew each other? Had she memorised him just as he had her? The beautiful seamstress...dropping her white sheets...the absolution of shock causing her mouth to hang open...

Now clutching the ends of her dress and running after the guards...Patch had to look away...

He was on his knees before the only landmark of the town - the pillory. They dragged him into the holes, his chin hitting it painfully.

"So," said Hank Millar, his voice carrying magnificently. "Our masked villain! Finally, I shall bring relief to this town!"

"Let him go!" someone shouted, the suggestion followed by assent from other villagers.

Hank laughed. "You don't even know who the buffoon is! Ah, let's find out!"

The mask was off.

Patch couldn't tear his eyes from Nora. She was shaking her head, tearful. Her hands were covering her lips - she was frozen - shock -

_I'm so sorry, Angel. I'm so sorry._

"Who are you?" Hank shouted in his face. When Patch didn't respond - too focused on the love of his life - HAnk slapped him. "Who _are_ you?"

"My name is Patch Cipriano," he said through a mouthful of blood. There was an emptiness in his voice that drowned all of the doubt. He couldn't take his eyes off his girl.

"And Patch," he said. "Do you know what the crime for stealing is?"

"Yes."

"You don't even know if he stole anything!"

"Yeah! You have no proof-"

Hank was quick to silence the two villagers, and everyone was left to stand in awe.

"We haven't had to use the stocks in a while, but today appears to be an appropriate occasion," Hank said, patting them lovingly. "The Man in the Mask - dead by _my _hand."

He withdrew his knife and pressed it under Patch's chin.

Blood splattered onto the ground.

"I'm pregnant!" A scream came from the crowd. "Patch, I'm pregnant!"

Patch's eyes met Nora's-

More blood met the ground-

His head fell to the floor, a charming crack of his nose breaking.

At least he couldn't feel it.

**A/N: Okay this one was bloody adorable everyone should agree with me**

**At least you guys finally got a long one!**

**Yes/no for the story idea? You guys prefer these types or ones like 35?**

**xxx**


	37. Long Distance

Number 37

Long Distance

3 missed calls from Angel 18:04

18:05 A: Patch I need to talk to you please pick up

Missed call from Angel 18:05

18:07 A: Clearly you're refusing to pick up

Whats ur problem anyway

Okay whatevrr guess ill jst text you instead

I'm breaking up w u. long distance isn't working for me

18:36 A: Patch?

Missed call from Angel 18:36

18:38 A: Can we stay friends ur a good guy

…2 weeks later…

03:01 P: I miss you

08:17 A: Sorry

We could stay friends?

08:23 P: I miss you as my girlfriend

I want you to be my girlfriend. Nora you know I love you so much

08:25 A: I miss u 2 but I cant do long distance anymore

U aren't there when I need u

08:26 P: I am baby I swear

Let me come and see you

08:35 A: no point. Please stay happy + move on

08:36 P: I love you

08:45 P: Have a good day Angel

…3 weeks later…

15:51 A: **Sent a picture. Download. **

15:52 A: Sorry, wrong person!

…4 weeks later…

00:15 07765 xxxxxx: I miss you

01:03 P: who is this?

01:05 07765 xxxxxx: Nora

01:05 N: I love u so much

Please tale me back

01:07 P: We're over, angel

It's been months

01:07 N: I know…but I love you

Missed call from Nora 01:08

01:08 N: Please pcik up

01:09 P: I'm not picking up

It took me ages to get over u and u think it's okay to just pop up whenever ur bed gets cold

01:11 N: It's not like that

I love you and I was stupid to wait this long

01:12 P: I'm not stupid anymore

01:13 N: Make the smart decision and get back together with me

Don't u remember all of the good times?

Rememebr whn we went t the beach + I got that terible tan

01:15 P: stop

Rememeber when u broke up with me and broke my heart

Cous I fucking well do

01:18 N: I love you so much

01:23 N: I never stopped loving you

01:27 N: Why are you being like this?

2 months was all it took for u 2 get over me

Did u even love me

01:29 P: I did

With my heart and soul

I loved u more than I ever have and ever will love anyone

I wouldve given u anything you asked for and all I wanted was some fucking commitemnt…all I wanted was u but clearly that was too much as well

Ive learnt to be happy without u now anf u should do the same

I wish you all the best Nora Gray

A/N: Quickie...will try and do a 'mushy' chapter next...(prompts help bc I'm terrible at romance)

Also did anyone like the texting format or is that a miss?

xoxo Ausilin


	38. Blind Dates

**PREWARNING NORA IS A BITCH IN THIS CHAPTER AND I DO NOT AGREE WITH ANYTHING SHE DOES BASICALLY**

Number 38 - AU

Blind Dates

Nora didn't realise that one of the conditions of a blind date was that the date had to be blind.

Stupid, right? Well it was hardly the first thing that would pop up into her head to ask – _Yeah, Vee, just checking before you set this up, the date isn't really blind, is he? Hahaha. _Hilarious.

Was this just some joke? Nora wasn't this desperate. When Vee suggested the blind date idea and said that Rixon had a single and hot friend – neither of which were a lie, unfortunately – Nora thought she would have a fun day out, enjoy herself and maybe end up with someone's number or something. She never considered that she would be stuck in a booth seat and trying to think of an excuse to leave, which she knew she couldn't do because that would be _rude_ and holy hell Nora was about to fuck etiquette and just leave.

But she couldn't just leave a blind guy in a booth on his own, right?

Fuck. This could be her good deed for the day, and when it was over she could go and cry into her copy of _The Way Of All Flesh_ and then google pictures of abandoned animals or something. Maybe they would be more pitiful than the boy sitting opposite her.

Boy? _Boy_, he was all man. He was staring at his menu (illogical, because the fuck couldn't _read_) and his lack of vision gave Nora a fine opportunity to eye him up, and he was gorgeous. Black shirt, tight on sculpted arms; slight stubble, making his sharp jaw look more angular; dark lashes which only made his eyes look more intense.

But he was blind. And Nora wasn't into disability.

The waitress came around, "Can I start you guys off with something to drink?" and both of them rattled out the name of a soft drink before the girl left again. The date had looked in the direction of the waitress pretty well – he had probably been blind for a while – before he began to feel out the table in front of him.

"Your name's Nora, right?" He asked, his voice a low rumble which Nora tried not to wince at. Her hopes were that she could just get through the evening with minimal conversation and contact, but it seemed as if the date had a different idea.

"Right. And you're Patch."

"Thanks for reminding me," he said with a smirk. "What degree are you studying?"

"English Language with a Linguistics minor. And you?"

There was something unsettling about the way his eyes were not visible behind his sunglasses. "Physics."

The waitress brought their drinks through. "Are you guys ready to order yet?"

"I am," Nora said, hoping the evening would move along faster.

Patch agreed, "What do you recommend?"

After some suggestions from the uniformed teen Patch chose his meal quickly, and it didn't occur to Nora that he too wanted to be out of there as soon as possible. Nora ordered, and they both waited for a while in a dense silence.

"I'm trying to think of something to say," Patch mentioned after at least five whole minutes (in which Nora was also deperately grabbing at the straws of conversation), "But all I can think of is that you don't give a f– you don't _care_ anyway. I mean, why did you even come if you were going to text the whole time?"

Nora guiltily slid her phone back into her purse. "I didn't think you could see that."

"Ah, that makes it alright, then? And just 'cause I'm blind, doesn't mean I can't hear you tapping on the bloody keys every two seconds."

The table became quiet again. "Sorry," she said.

Thankfully the food came out then – piping hot and a great excuse for silence. Nora shot the waitress a thankful smile before looking down at her plate.

If possible, the atmosphere was even more awful than it was before. Nora took a forkful of pasta and chewed it slowly.

"They didn't tell me you were blind," she said – and surely that was enough to justify her rudeness? "When Vee said I should go on a date – well, she didn't tell me you couldn't see."

"So what?"

"Huh?"

"So what?"

Nora pushed her food around her plate. "I dunno, really."

A tangible pause.

"Listen," Patch said. "I think I'm gonna leave. Don't really appreciate eating with people who hate me for something I can't control."

"I don't hate you."

Patch placed two rumpled tens on the table and left, his plate untouched.

…

When Nora arrived back to the dorms, Vee was quick to tell her how much of a bitch she'd been.

"I hope you realise Patch will never talk to me again."

"Finally, something the both of us will agree on!"

Vee's brows ruffled – what have I done, blah blah blah, it's not _that_ big of a deal he's blind, blah blah blah, sure I've never been with a blind guy but he's really great, you're a stuck up bitch, fucking frigid, didn't know my best friend was so ableist – she slammed the door and left and Nora decided she would rather hang out with some of the girls on her course rather than Vee, who clearly just needed some time to cool down.

…

The poetry slam was always great, and it always started at times suitable for uni students – eight pm.

It was in the Bumble Burt's Café which was on site, and always had a respectable crowd. Nora sat down on a blue armchair, clutching a mug of tea and wondering how long it would take for Vee to calm down and maybe even just _consider_ that as her friend she had the duty to not throw her in situations where she would be clueless. Sure, Nora herself had been a bitch, but she had been caught off guard and – well fuck, she felt guilty and wanted to be able to apologise to Patch, but it was hardly like she would ever see him again.

Until she saw him.

Again. Second time in one day. Sitting on a barstool, facing the faux-stage and sipping on a drink of his own.

…

"So, uh – this is something I literally just threw together, but, well, I hope you all like it." Don't look up, don't look up, don't look up.

"I met a great guy but I'm not a great girl

Spending another evening alone

Wish I could say sorry but I'm bad with words

Kinda ironic really.

Wanna kick myself

Maybe get a concussion too

Because being a bitch

Meant giving up you.

I'm being sincere

But how would you know

Maybe we should have another blind date

And see how it goes.

Same time, same place, tomorrow?"

Nora fumbled off the stage, face flaming hot and unable to look up at Patch – but she just _had_ to, the curiousity was killing her – and out of the corner of her eye, saw his confused and conflicted expression.

…

The same waitress lead them to the same table and they ordered the same drinks – it really was like a redo – and Nora opened the menu and read it out loud so Patch could choose something properly.

It was halfway through the evening when he spoke up, "This isn't a date."

"Okay."

"What you did before was wrong and I couldn't ever date someone like you."

"Okay."

**A/N: Thius is not me romanticising Nora's actions. she's an absolute dick and tbh she didn't deserve a second of patch's attention afterwards. Just my way of pointing out hypocrisy - you know, being 'all for' human equality/rights as nora is but then judging someone for something they can't control but the judgement being acceptable for some fucked up reason (I'm pretty sure everyone has their own 'nora' in this situation)**

**Thanks to TheBritWhoDoesn'tDrinkTea for the prompt and I h****ope this is still mushy enough for you guys :)**

**Sorry for the lateness! Been stuck with schoolwork and tbh I couldn't get my head around writing, I've been more in a reading mood recently**

**I know I say this every time but I really got into this one so I h****ope you enjoyed (and lol The Dragon Slayers ur comment was 10/10)**

**Ausilin xxx**


	39. Getting Over Nora

Number 39, AU

Getting over Nora

Patch was in his car. He was driving.

It was raining outside. Stormy. Patch was driving recklessly and he just didn't give a fuck.

His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The rain was beating his windshield. The numbers on the speedometer climbed upwards dangerously.

The phone was flung on his seat. It didn't light up with missed call notifications.

Almost two years and she didn't care. What even was he to her? Just something to scratch an itch? Some lead to tick the box?

Fuck. There was a fire in his veins – if only she called – just _once_ – he would turn the car back around, they could _fix_ this, he knew they could. He just wanted her – the idea that she could do this, after so long – the girl he was intending on _marrying_, fuck he already had the ring.

The ring was in one of his suitcases in the back of his car.

How could she? How dare she go ahead and fuck around with him, _how dare she_. All those times they'd laughed together and made love – they were all lies? He was just a fuck always in the backburner, always _there_ just in case she couldn't get another guy.

It was stormy outside and all Patch could do was cry.

…

Patch's parents were understanding. It was Nick who came to the door in the middle of the night and he opened the liquor cabinet and they drank together at two am. Nick didn't talk, Patch didn't talk.

"Nora broke up with me, Dad."

Nick took a sip of his scotch.

"We were fine, I mean…I was planning on marrying her – the fucking ring's in the fucking car, bloody fuck-" Patch threw back the rest of his drink and hoped to wash down his sobs with it.

"What should I do?"

Nick set down his drink. "I think you've had a long day. Go upstairs and get some sleep. Your mum's fixed your bed up."

…

It was the morning and Patch's head was aching – he moved on autopilot, stumbling down the steps at some obscene hour, unable to sleep. He moved to the kitchen and put the kettle on; pulled out the tea bags and sugar and milk and started to fumble through the cupboards for a mug –

Only Patch made two mugs of tea. One was black, two sugars – his own.

The other was a dark beige colour, teabag in, no sugars…the others was Nora's.

He stood holding the mug for a long time. His feet heated up the kitchen tile. The mug heated up his fingers, but it created a deeper hollow in his chest…loss, perhaps.

Patch's phone was upstairs, and he was sure that if it was with him he would call her back up…beg her for another chance, beg her to leave the other man…but maybe it was for the best that the phone had left him too.

He took a seat on the couch and sipped on the beige tea as the sun started to scissor through the blinds.

…

"Nora, babe. What's gotten you so wound up lately?"

She was fixing her hair, but stopped when he addressed her.

"Patch…

"I've done something I know is wrong, but…I can't stop."

"You mean, like, illegal wrong? 'Cous everyone does drugs and they're no big deal." But Patch sounded careless – probably because drugs and illegal things were the last thing he would imagine Nora doing. Likelihood was that she was bigging something up in her head or something.

"I mean, like, uh – wrong enough to hurt someone I know."

Patch was silent for a moment. "Well people make mistakes, Angel. Just ask them to forgive you and they probably will, I mean who couldn't? You're perfect." He walked over and took her hand, leading her back towards the bedroom, expecting a giggle or maybe her whiny tone explaining that she'd _just fixed her hair_ – but he knew exactly how to take her mind off what she was feeling-

She shook her hand out of his grip, "You don't get it - I don't think I _want_ to stop doing it, Patch, and it's hurting someone who's important to me,"

"Then I guess you just have to figure out what's more important to you, babe," Patch said, slightly put off by her rejection – something he really should have been used to by this point.

Nora faced the mirror again, unable to look him in the eye. "I want to tell you what I've done, Patch. Will you listen?"

…

"How long?"

"I – not that long-"

"_How_ \- _long?"_

"Nearly four weeks," she said in a whisper. "I've been fucking another guy for nearly four weeks."

Patch laughed bitterly and stood up. "Wow, you're really a fucking mess, Angel. Congrats. You sit around and fucking act like you're bloody perfect – well, look at you." His fists shook in rage. "What, you're getting ready to see him tonight, huh?"

"Patch, please-" but the guilty look on her face said everything she couldn't.

"Please what? Huh, please _what_?"

"I – please don't get upset, I didn't want you to-"

Patch threw his fist into the mirror, trying to release his anger, and _bloody hell_ he was so fucking _mad_.

Nora squealed and moved out of his way, inching towards the door – Patch wanted her to leave, to let him break down on his own; hadn't she taken enough from him already? But she wouldn't stop staring after him, doe eyes wide and so shocked, "Please stop Patch, I'm so sorry-"

"You're not!" was his strangled cry. "You – you just _said_ you don't regret it, you just said that y-you – please, please, what do you _want_?" His voice was loud and shaky and every bit the disaster, "Y-you fucking – you _fucked_ _around_ and now – now you're-" he pressed his palm against the cracked mirror and could see his own expression distorted with anguish, "You d-don't even want m-me, right?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I-I want you to be happy, Patch – I can't do that for you-"

"Don't you dare pin this on me! This is all you – this is all fucking you, Nora-"

"Yeah," she said sadly. "It's me. I don't want to be with you anymore. And I'm really sorry about that, and you do deserve someone who can love you properly-"

"Whatever, Nora. Save the bullshit." Patch turned to face her, and she was crying. In another world he would have taken her into his arms, forgiven her for anything – he would have comforted her and pressed her against him. But she was right. He deserved someone who understood what commitment was; he deserved someone who she could never be.

By God, did he wish it could've been her.

He was empty as he watched her cry – and over what? She was the one who cheated, she was the one who didn't want to be with him anymore, and this was just her getting what she wanted.

"I hope he cheats on you."

Her tears moved faster and all Patch could think was that maybe he already had.

…

The beige tea had turned cold so Patch placed the mug on a coaster.

"Hey kiddo, what are you doing up so early?" Nick was dressed in a suit and tie, clearly in a rush, his hair scruffy over his forehead.

Patch shrugged and looked out of the window.

"Bet you're starving, huh? Want me to whip you up something real quick?"

Patch took a gulp of his cold tea and it was soon replaced with a steaming mug of coffee and a stack of buttered toast. Nick squeezed his shoulder.

"Eat up, or your mum'll raise hell."

Patch shoved a slice of toast into his mouth and his father managed to leave, satisfied.

…

It's funny how events always seem so much better in retrospect. There's a haze only achieved by rose-tinted glasses; the haze that the war heroes clamour about, as though the racist attacks in the '50s, '60s and '70s never happened; the same haze that people procure when recalling old relationships fondly.

People kid themselves into thinking times were much better than they were, and if they don't do that then they'll blame something they can control. Themselves, mainly – they didn't try hard enough, or they had done something to deserve mistreatment.

Perhaps we do get what we deserve, or perhaps we get what we think we deserve by putting ourselves in positions where we are restricted.

Maybe Patch knew Nora was acting off - maybe he should have expected this. Or maybe he shouldn't have let her meet Rixon - maybe this was his fault.

This was his fault.

…

Nora gave Patch a relaxed smile, stuck in the blissful afterglow of sex. Her smooth skin had a sheen of sweat and the golden glow of sunlight bathed her body. The digital clock on the bedside table read 10:53, and the small date etched below blinked 12/07/16.

The covers were on the floor and Patch wrapped himself around her so she wouldn't get cold.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, too."

**A/N: I know you guys aren't a huge fan of break ups...but they're so much fun to write!**

**Opinions on writing style?**


	40. Cigarette Smoke

Number 40, AU

Cigarette Smoke - Valentine's One-Shot

I prided myself in being a smart woman.

I would always complete my work on time. I would always hand in my assignments on time. And I would always make decisions based on logic and reason rather than emotion – or at least I would try to.

So when I received a Valentine's note asking me to meet the sender at the best Italian I'd tasted, I ignored it entirely. I had a boyfriend and I was satisfied with said boyfriend. We spent lots of time together and he was a good man.

And I was hoping he'd pop the question tonight.

I mean, why else splash the cash? L'Artiste was the fanciest restaurant, and it wasn't even nearby. It was where Scott had proposed to Vee, and sure when Baruch asked me to marry him there it would hardly the most _original_ proposal spot, but a proposal is a proposal and it was an exciting prospect. Plus, Baruch and I had been in a relationship for a while and this was the third Valentine's we would be spending together. Surely it was time to step things up a notch? We'd been talking about marriage recently, and if that didn't spell k-e-e-n then I didn't know what did.

I was ready to start a family. I was hoping tonight would be everything I wanted and more.

…

"So," I said to Baruch after the waitress left with our orders, "I got you something."

Baruch held his hand up. Boy, did he look dapper tonight – a fitted suit in a sharp black with sharply contrasted with the blonde locks falling stylishly over his forehead. His lashes were thick and dark and his exquisite features were only aided by the shadows made by the mellow lighting.

"I just want to say something first," oh hell was _this_ it? as in right _now_? "just before we exchange gifts, I can't hold back any longer and you just look damn gorgeous," this _must_ be it, holy hell he was going to pull out the ring _any second_, "I wanted to make this night memorable for you, because" my heart was pounding, he took a deep breath-

"I'm breaking up with you."

…

I stood outside of the restaurant, looking back up at the lit-up sign. I was in a state of what could only be descibed as shock.

I recalled the message from the Valentine's card I received.

…

_Angel,_

_Meet me at L'Artiste at 8:00 tonight. _

_Happy Valentine's day._

It hardly screamed love confession. But here I was, recalling the message…thinking…wondering…if Baruch loved me as much as he claimed, why was he moving away? And it he had to move away, why hadn't he decided to take me with him?

Baggage.

I was left, once again, at the mercy of a person who considered me only to be baggage. When my mother gave me away to my biological father, when he treated me like I was a cumberance; when I moved in with Vee after the death of my father, when I relied on her and her parent's money; when I dated Calvin, when he was cheating on me for the whole time and just _cut me loose_ when I found out, like it was nothing – like I was nothing.

Here I was looking up at the bright sign of the best Italian that wasn't even in town, wondering about all of the people who I'd relied on too much and had treated me like I was too little – here I was, in front of the restaurant where my apparent admirer claimed to want to meet me, and all I could think about was that I was too tired to deal with people anymore and how I wanted to go home, but that it was the same home I shared with the man I thought I was going to marry but cut me off like a mutated fish on a hook.

I pulled out my mobile and the lights blinked too brightly in my face. It was half eight on Valentine's Day and I was going to dial a cab to take me back to the home I shared with my ex, but I didn't even want to do that.

There was a sense of loneliness, like I didn't belong anywhere. Everywhere I went, people were happy to see my back. I thought things were going good with Baruch, but clearly he didn't love me as much as I thought.

And the horrible thing was that I _knew_ I would give up the job of a lifetime if it meant staying with him. But he couldn't do the same.

Loves too much but was loved too little.

The wind changed direction and pungent smell of cigarette smoke replaced the fog in my brain.

…

I wrinkled my nose. "Do you always smoke?"

"Princess, that's like asking you if you always have a stick up your ass."

"If you smoke that often then I'm surprised you're not dead yet."

We shared a smile and he took another inhilation. We were both relaxed on our balconies; I was reading another Austen novel and he was smoking another fag.

"Where's the boyfriend?" he asked.

I shot him a sad smile. "He's still with his client, Patch. This time of the year is always busy."

He hummed in response. "I'm gonna order takeout. Wanna join?"

…

I turned towards it. In my mind, I had always linked smoking to Patch. It wasn't exactly a smell that clung to him, but whenever we spoke (usually on our balconies), he would be smoking.

And just like I was expecting, it was Patch Cipriano - my neighbour and friend of seven years.

We stood and stared at each other for a long time.

He dropped his cigarette to the ground. He took a step forward and reached for me. His hand came up slowly.

His thumb ran under my eyes, smearing the wetness.

"What are you doing here, Patch?" My voice and our eye contact broke.

"Smoking," he said lowly, and I could smell it on his fingers that were brushing my cheeks. "What are you doing here?" he echoed.

I gave him a twisted smile. "Getting dumped."

He sighed and looked towards the doors of the L'Artiste. "Fancy getting dinner?"

"Not really," I told him. "What got you all dressed up?"

"Just this girl," he said. "But she showed up with another guy. It was a long shot anyway."

It was so easy to talk about somebody else's problems…they swallowed the lingering urge to eat ice cream in the apartment I shared with my ex, where I could only wallow about him where he could see me.

"How was it a long shot?"

His hands dropped, and the reassuring calm of someone caressing my face left also. "They're dating someone else. Or were. I don't really know."

"Or were?" I was dating someone. I looked back towards the doors of the restaurant longingly…_Baruch_…

"Yeah," he told me. "They just came out of the restaurant and told me they'd been dumped because their ex is a fucktard."

"Oh," I said absentmindedly, only half-listening. "He's not gonna take me back, is he?" I looked into Patch's eyes, practically _begging_ him to disagree with me. I couldn't take another person who loved me just giving me up.

"It wouldn't be in my best interest if he did."

"Patch," I murmured. "My head's a mess and y-you're confusing me."

He took a step back. "I think this will be my only real chance to say this, Nora, so I'm gonna.

"I'm the one who sent you that Valentine's card. I'm the one who wanted to meet you here and _I'm_ the one who wants you."

"Me?" I asked dumbly.

"You. I want _you_."

"I…"

He shook his head. "This isn't me asking anything from you right now. Unless you fancy grabbing some ice cream and you can tell me whatever happened?"

"Patch-" tears slid off my chin, "Patch-" And it was like his name was some form of ressaurance, but either way it was the only thing that clung onto my lips – that feeling of heartache was overwhelming, and here I was in front of the fanciest restaurant after getting dumped, getting hugged by my neighbour who apparently had feelings for me-

His arms tightened around me. "Shh, shh - I got you, Nora."

**A/N: What did everyone get for Valentine's? Me and my friends exchanged presents...lol I got chocolate + candles (yass)**


	41. The Boi I Love

Number 41, AU

The Boy I Love

There is a boy I love. He has dark hair and thick brows and an angular face and eyes so deep you could drink from them until you drowned. There is a boy I love, and he always has black ink smeared to his elbows and a sketchbook tucked under his arm. There is a boy I love, and I know he is loved by few and I know I can love him like many.

There is a boy I love, and his eyes glitter in the sun. Though he wore black, I know he loved yellow. There is a boy I love, and whenever I would walk into the lecture theatre I would always feel his eyes following me like my own guard, ensuring my safety. I love him because his actions are so beautiful. Oh, this boy that I love – with a heart richer than a king and a smile rarer than a cuckoo in winter.

There is a boy I love, and it was him that I thought of when I picked up the pale yellow sundress. For this boy that I love, for this amazing artist who could make something plain drown with the feeling of being alive – oh, the gift of being alive. It was the boy I love who I thought of when picking up the dress and deciding that I would wear it on our first date (whenever that would be).

And it was that boy I love – that gorgeous, pensive, passionate, endearing boy –it was his name on the lips of every person in the lecture hall. The boy I love.

There was a boy I loved and a dress I burned and no first date – no, no first date. There was a funeral and five attendees and lavish white roses I could only wish would transform into dazzling yellow sunflowers that would keep him warm and happy – that would _make_ him warm and happy. There was a boy I loved who was loved by far too few and loved himself far too less.

There was a boy I loved who I loved far too much but who I wish I could love so much more. There was a marvellous boy I love, the boy whose laugh was a song and whose arms are home.

**A/N: Based off a recent article I read about a museum in America called the museum of lost relationships (or something to that effect. Don't remember it too much anymore)**

**I have a long update pending next - don't forget to review, fave and follow :)**

**xxx Ausilin**


	42. Dragon

Number 42, AU (Prompt was something I read a while ago)

Dragon

_The prince killed the dragon._

_Shame that the princess loved that dragon._

_..._

"Oh wow," she whispered. "That was you?"

And he nodded his head as any pariah-peasant would, rich black hair shaggy on his forehead.

…

She sent with a messanger, _I saw you in the sky tonight_, and he was giddy. Nobody had come to his cave – his home – in so long. And the princess made his stomach coil like his reptilian relative, the snake; he wasn't sure if it was her curly red hair or her glittering eyes, or even her loud smile or her vicious courage. Maybe it was it all.

…

_Come fly with me tonight_, in the faded etch of a pencil.

_Certainly_, in the smudged green of ink.

…

"Hello, dragon-boy," she said in her dangerous tone – _her sexy tone._ There was a delicious darkness to her words, and Patch's tongue grew dry.

He wasn't used to talking, but she was used to being around too many words. She enjoyed his concise nature. It was refreshing.

So they kissed in the orange of dusk; tongues and wandering hands having a casual yet comforting laziness. He felt the softness of her red hair and she felt the sharpness of his bones – his shoulders and his ribs and his hips. They kissed until it was dark enough to fly, and when it was dark enough to fly they let everything else fall away.

…

His cave was dark and cold whenever she visited, but in all of her months she had never been able to stay the night. Sometimes she wondered how he slept in the cold cave at night, but maybe it was something to do with his animal side, or maybe it was because of the mountain of furs he always sat her on.

…

_Dragons are bad, _she was told_. Dragons tear homes apart. Dragons kill people. _

Killing a dragon was a source of pride for any man. Patch hid in a cave. He was safe.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

But like any animal that cannot stay contained, a dragon must fly.

…

They lay curled in the furs, _I love you_, she whispered, finally echoing the words he'd said so long before, and they lay curled in the furs and warmed their fingers over the fire, lasting glances only making the tension more stifling.

…

_There are people searching for dragons. Please stay safe! Don't leave your home for a while _

But a dragon must fly.

…

"Hello," Patch said. He hadn't had a visitor for a long time.

This visitor was wealthy, with thick clothes and two swords sheathed on his belt. His gloves were tanned leather and gold chains sung on his neck.

The visitor hesitated. "Hello."

"Are you lost?" Patch was sitting outside his cave. His bare knees were muddy but he had just had the most exhilirating fly. He had discovered a new area, somewhere he would be sure to remember so he could take Nora there. He marked the point on his flimsy hand-drawn map, writing against a rock.

"No. Do you happen to know who lives here?" The visitor pointed towards the cave.

"Yes."

"And whom may that be?"

Patch was not the first to give information to anyone, least of all a stranger. He got up and started walking in the opposite direction of the cave.

"Boy! I was talking to you!" yelled the man. One of his hands grasped Patch's shoulder, pulling him around. "I have heard that a dragon lives there, you hear me? A damned creature deserves to go to Hell. I'll take it there! I only want to keep the people safe."

The answer sounded like something paraphrased from a propaganda poster.

"So tell me! Tell me where he is!"

Patch pulled himself out of the man's grasp. "I don't know. Ask someone else."

The man sent him a sharp smile. "I have," he said smugly. "_'The dragon lives in the cave at the east of the forest.'_ Look, boy. It's the east of the forest. Do you live here?"

Patch said no, he did not, and he would appreciate it if the man left him alone.

…

_My brother just left for your cave. Please don't say that was you flying!_

…

There was a dragon and there was a man. But the dragon was really a boy and the man was really a prince.

The man had a sword and the dragon had talons – the man had skill where the dragon had none. The swoops of his long sword were predatory and precise, and the dragon could do nothing but jump out of the way.

Patch feared his flames. He hoped to scare the man away with some roaring and trampling, but he wouldn't leave, _why wouldn't he leave_? Killing a dragon would bring him nothing.

But the gleam in his eyes, greedy and malovent, did not wear under the threat – if anything, it steeled his resolve.

The hits were fast, and when Patch's reflexes failed him his scales saved him. Patch sliced off an arm but the man kept on swinging, face grisly, pride forcing him to continue the fight.

Had he been in his human form, Patch would be shouting at the man, screaming at him to stop. But it didn't really matter what form Patch was in, because he was a dragon and dragons were made to die.

The human's strength was deteriorating. Patch eased up.

The fatal blow.

Patch's bright red blood, the bright red blood of a man, soaked through the worn paper of the map left on the rock.

**A/N: Why does Patch always have to die**


	43. The One Who Didn't Try Enough

Number 43 - AU

The One Who Didn't Try Enough

My footsteps were heavy on the floor.

I was tired. Work had been long. It was always long. If I didn't need the money, I would quit and never look back.

My life wasn't how I envisioned.

I'm thirty five. At this point, I thought I would have a family of my own…a well-paid and well-respected job, a nice house and a nice car.

I had the wife and the house and the car, but I just didn't have the family and the kids and the contentment.

I could buy my wife nice things, I could cherish her like I deserved, but we couldn't have kids and that was on me. Kids were something she had always dreamed of; even when we were dating in secondary school she would mention how she would want to have kids. I can't give them to her and I feel dead.

There was a time when I would come home from work and my wife would be there to kiss me on the cheek, or I would surprise her with flowers or we would laze around on the sofa and watch reruns of a random show. But now there was none of that. We'd fallen apart and even if I had glue to fix us back together, I wouldn't know how.

I can't give her children. I had suggested adopting, but the idea was thrown back into my face quickly; what would the neighbours think, why would we need something subpar when I can have kids? You're being ridiculous again.

Maybe people are made for each other and maybe we weren't made for each other.

I dropped my work bag on the dining table. The house was oddly silent. There were dust notes wafting in the air so I opened some of the living room windows.

"Babe?" I called out. My feet were on the stairs and I made my way up them, peeking my head into every door of the house.

The bathroom. I walked in to see my wife holding a stick – a pregnancy test. She looked towards me and something shimmered in her eyes.

There are moments in your life when you know…you just _know_. You don't need to say anything. A sense of peace washes over you at the knowing…there is also a dread. I stared at my wife, at her fingers gripping the white plastic, her eyes glittering – _just like on our wedding dance_ – she was wearing a grey tracksuit and her hair curled past her collarbones, her lips were raspberries.

"I love you," I told her. I did. This was goodbye, I knew. She would forever hold my heart and I would forever make her unhappy.

"It's positive," she whispered.

"I know," I told her. "I love you."

Her lips trembled. "I'm pregnant."

I didn't know what to say. It couldn't be mine – not a chance. Maybe if I prayed hard enough, but I hadn't. Babies were her dream and it had been a long time since I had considered having a child with her considering our relationship was a sinking ship. She hadn't had any sexual interest in me for so long, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't change that…I felt like a lodger in my own house.

I took a step towards the doorway. Should I leave her? Did she need a moment alone?

I asked her just that, but she shook her head. "Don't go," she told me.

We stood in silence for a long time. She had a hand on her belly and she was staring in the mirror, analysing herself.

I broke the silence. "Whose is it?"

"Scott's. Gardener Scott's."

What a prick. "When will you leave?"

"Leave?" she echoed in confusion.

"We can't stay together. Not – not after _this_."

She didn't reply. She gnawed on her lower lip.

"We can. We – we can raise the baby together. Like it's ours."

I shook my head. Crazy girl. The whole reason I hadn't allowed myself to care that she'd cheated was because I couldn't make her happy. We were hardly a couple anymore. She wanted to cheat? If that gave her what she wanted, then fine. I didn't want anything to do with it. I respected our marriage vows because I respected her, but cheating on me and then asking me to raise the baby was a stretch. Maybe I would have agreed if I thought I could make her happy. I couldn't. I had tried so hard when she had clearly been sleeping with other people behind my back. What would happen when she wanted another child? Would I be raising the window cleaner's kid next?

There was a deep feeling of resentment in my gut…we all had faults…and she had thrown mine in my face.

It wasn't a mistake; if it had been, she would have apologised. But she had never said sorry for the cheating (as if someone can accidentally fall into someone else's bed).

Maybe she was in shock. I was in shock. But I didn't want to stand there while she looked enamoured with the piece of plastic – _I couldn't give her what she needed_ – fuck fuck fuck fuck-

"Patch, Patch – imagine! Imagine it – we can raise it like our own! Our dream, we can finally have our dream!" She looked so excited. "A-and, we – we can – oh Patch, this is so exciting!" She seemed happier, happier than she had been in a long time. And to think I couldn't give that to her – _oh damn_ she deserved this happiness so much, she needed this so much –

"Baby, Angel – I – I think we need some time. Away from each other."

"Patch?" The sparkle in her eye disappeared because this was reality and reality wasn't a happily ever after, reality was your wife cheating on you for ever -

"I'll leave. I'll pack up and leave. I'll contact a lawyer and we'll figure out the divorce proceedings-"

"No, Patch-"

"And I'll make sure you have enough to look after the child, at least until you're stable enough for a job-"

"Patch, please-"

"But we haven't been in love for so long, baby-"

("-I know-")

And then we were both silent. She looked at the plastic stick, "What if I had lied?" she asked. "What if the baby is yours?"

We were quiet for a long time. I took a deep breath. Imagined it – imagined the baby being mine. The euphoria – the feeling of adequacy – and maybe she'd try harder to make us work…but would it fix anything? We would still be broken, and bringing a baby into our relationship would be like putting a plaster on a bullet wound.

"Angel, you know it's not mine. Scientifically impossible. I know you've always wanted kids of your own…" I wanted to continue, call her out on the cheating – _fuck_ – but she was happy, and there was this feeling of resolution inside me…like maybe this was supposed to happen: maybe it was time to move on. I had ignored the signs leading to this, pushed aside her cheating, the used condoms in the bin that were not mine, I tried to treat her better and blamed her infidelity on myself, _I wasn't good enough_ – and I wasn't, I wasn't good enough to give her a child, and maybe if I had convinced her to love me more the she would have been satisfied with adopting.

"I know," she said. "I wanted them with you."

"It doesn't matter."

"Patch, don't you want to be a parent? I mean, you always spoke about adopting – this isn't really any different than adopting, is it? I mean, either way it wouldn't be your kid you're looking after, so-"

There was something in her tone, and the quick way she had been speaking – it lacked sincere desperation – did she not see what she had done wrong?

"You don't get to lecture me after cheating on me," I snapped. "You fucking well don't. You know what? I changed my mind. Get the hell out of my house. You cheated on me and I know it's been going on for years. I'm done. All of your stupid excuses-"

"No, Patch-"

"I've treated you with respect this _whole time_! Respect! I'm fucking _done_ – I'm done feeling like I'm not good enough. I seriously don't give a flying fuck anymore." I slammed my way out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, tugging a suitcase out from under the bed.

"Patch, what are you doing?" she'd followed me in there.

Clothes were yanked out of the closet, hangers and all – I threw everything that would fit into that suitcase, so furious that the zip snapped in my fingers when I tried to pull it – I grabbed another suitcase, piling in shoes and lingere – _how many other guys had seen her in that?_ – my hands were instantly slamming the case shut at the thought.

She put a hand on my arm - _stop_! – but I shook it off, dragging the bulky cases down the winding staircase. She was following after me, sobbing and yelling, her voice muted in my ears…all I could hear was the sound my pulse pounding, a throbbing, frightening, _ferocious_ anger.

"Patch please-" she was snivelling and begging, her face blotchy-

I dragged her suitcases outside, leaving them on the porch.

"Patch-" her had was on my arm again, like she had a fucking right-

"How long have you been cheating for and how many guys have you fucked?"

She seemed stumped that I'd opened my mouth.

"C'mon. Tell me."

"I-I can't remember," she said meekly.

I looked up towards the heavens. "I spent my teenage life praying I would marry you. Thanks for ruining those memories, too."

She tried to stop me from reentering the house, "P-Patch, we've been together for so long – no, listen baby – we've been together so long, d-don't you think you're being – _hic_ \- hasty?"

Her words were dirt.

I left her on the porch, and when I checked twenty minutes later she was standing with her mother who was helping her load the suitcases into the back on an old Suzuki. I met Blythe's eyes through the window and she shook her head, disappointed.

Guess she'd overestimated how long I was planning to be a doormat for.

**A/N: Hey. So this whole story thing is actually super long and getting super draggy so I was thinking of finishing it up. I may publish a Vee/Scott one-shot book or I might pick another universe. **

**General thoughts? **

**Ausilin xx**


	44. Eyoo

Number 44 - AU

Eyoo

I am unhappy.

But that is okay. Because unhappiness is my constant.

People are unreliable. They'll leave time and time again. If they haven't left yet then they're going to and there's no telling when.

People don't like me, but that's okay. I don't like them either. I'm the freak that hardly anyone sees at school, anyway. I'm in the library or getting spat at in the corridors. And if I'm not getting spat at then I'm getting kicked at, either with words or legs. I don't mind. I don't really feel it.

I think I have two things I can actually feel. Unhappiness and emptiness. Sometimes I think that maybe that is all anyone can feel; that any other emotion is a disillusionment. But sometimes I see people laughing with their friends and touching them intimately and I realise that maybe some people do feel happiness or companionship. Maybe I am just not one of those people. I am sure I have been destined for many things, but perhaps happiness is just not meant for me.

That is okay. I am okay with not being happy. It is privation at this point. I don't know if happiness actually exists - but how can I, if I have never felt it before.

Yet again I am left in a pit of blankness. Perhaps happiness is real, because God is real and I have never seen Him before. And how can I really claim to be unhappy if I have never felt happy? I have nothing to compare my emotions to. It's all confusing.

But I don't care. I'll wipe those ideas out of my brain and curl myself over a set of chemical equations. I'll balance it for electrons and then for hydrogen atoms and water molecules. I'll cross out the spectator ions and I'll do it all over again for the next equation.

There is something soothing in the repetitive nature of the questions. They are quick and simple. The chatter in my brain quietened down as my blue biro etches between the faded blue lines of the paper. I like this paper. The horizontal lines are blue and the margin line is red. I always bought the Campus Notebook brand. The paper was thick and it was difficult for the ink to bleed through to the other side.

My teacher clears his throat. He requests for us to place our worksheets, regardless of their state of completion, onto his desk on the way out. I hand him mine and he berates me for wearing my hoodie in school, especially with my hood up. It's rude. Not part of the uniform. Downright disrespectful, really. I walk out just as it looks as if his head is about to explode and he shouts after me. I can imagine him emailing the headteacher after this and I can imagine getting a complaint home. I don't really care for it. The whole punishment system is illogical; while I get a letter home about disobedience and another flag-up for my misbehaviour, the people who physically punch me get nothing. I am ready for the sallow face of retribution to play it's part.

I push my way into the boy's toilets. I check under the cubicles for feet. I drop my bag by the sinks and extract the key, locking the door so nobody can come in.

I stand by the sinks and look into the mirror. I watch my eyes glow silver, and suddenly another reflection has joined mine in the mirror.

"Wow, Patch. The loos again? We really need an upgrade." She leans against the frame of the mirror. It is her prison. Not by me, but I have neither the strength or the drive to release her. Perhaps I would consider it if I knew she wouldn't leave me as soon as she had freedom.

"C'mon. You know I'm just kidding. And I haaate it when you summon me and don't say a thing! It's really creepy. I mean, you called me here, so why don't you talk?

"Ah, but you hate talking, don't you? What's so wrong about the spoken word, my dear? It's actually awfully delightful. Communication, I mean - through words or even touch! Or appearance. For example, right now I can tell you're very frustrated. Are you having trouble speaking? Was it that terrible teacher who always bitches about your hoodie? He just wants to see your gorgeous face so he can crush on you some more! Wow, he's probably jealous of me. Imagine that - someone being jealous of a girl trapped in mirrors! But I guess there are worse things to be trapped in. I would hate to be trapped in, like, a vegetable. Can that happen? Or is the spell exclusive to only reflective surfaces?" Nora hums in consideration.

This is why I like Nora. She doesn't force me to talk and she knows when I just want to hear someone talking to me. Sometimes my tongue feels heavy and my throat closes up and I can't speak. Nora does not mind.

Being with Nora is the closest I can get to happiness. I do not feel happy, but rather than feeling empty and cold I feel empty and fresh. Maybe the same feeling people chase for when getting spa trips.

"I mean, vegetables can rot. Imagine getting summoned into something smelly! Would I be able to feel that? It would be pretty gross. Like, one time I had this gone off avocado and I swear I could taste it for a month every time before I went to bed!" Nora quietened down. "Sweetie, you aren't having another panic attack, are you?"

I shake my head. I focus on the sound of her voice. Things get less shaky.

"I wish I could hold you."

I don't think she does. Holding a sack is skin is hardly fun. She is safer on the other side of the mirror. My home is not homely.

"What triggered it? Dickhead chem teacher?"

Nora is the only person who listens to me. I don't speak much.

A lot of things, I want to tell her. A lot of things piled up and I needed release. My tongue is still heavy so my mouth stays glued shut and a tear drips off my nose.

She starts singing. She sings a lot when she is sad or frustrated, or when I am sad or frustrated. I do not know which language she sings in, but she sounds like a mermaid or a siren. My muscles relax and I let my hoodie drop. The warm microclimate about my head disappears and air touches my ears.

There is a long stretch if silence that I spend cleaning myself up. Just as I am strapping my bag on, she asks, "Will you be okay?"

I nod and turn to walk away. When I pull the key out to open the door, I turn back to her sad face and her bright hair.

"Thank you."

My voice is scratchy and my tongue is heavy and I'm reaching to pull my hood back over my ears, but she smiles nonetheless.

"I love your voice," she says, just like she always says after I have spoken to her.

...

When I next summon Nora, it is a Wednesday. Two days have passed and I am, yet again, in the bathroom.

"Must we always meet in the loos?" She sighs. "I miss your bedroom."

Sometimes I think she is quite old with her RP and smart use of language. But then she says words like 'like' rather colloquially, so perhaps she is not. Maybe she was trapped not too long ago.

I have never really spoken for long enough to ask her and she never brings it up.

"What happened this time?" She asked. She seems to know something is off.

I pull my sleeve up to reveal my forearm. There are burn marks on it. Someone has sliced in my rather imaginative nickname - FREAK.

Nora seems shocked. She stares at my arm and I stare at her.

"W-what - who - who did that?"

She does not know that it happened in the very bathroom I am standing in. She also does not know who did it. I don't like telling her these things.

I put my arm under the tap and hum as I rinse the burning sensation away. I can feel her eyes on me but I don't say a word.

"Please, Patch. Please do something about this."

She starts begging. "Patch, please. You don't deserve this. Tell someone and it will stop - please tell someone." Tears drip off the mirror like perspiration. "Patch-"

"It...it doesn't...hurt," I tell her, because it doesn't. I look down to my bloodied forearm, at the broken skin and deep red blood. "It doesn't hurt."

"It hurts me," she whispers. "It hurts me so much."

I pull my sleeve back down and give her a nod of goodbye.

"Don't go," she whispers. "Stay with me. Stay - at least until you feel better."

How could I feel better if I could hardly feel?

"I don't know how long that will take."

"Then stay...forever."

I can't look at her. I sit on the bathroom floor and count the tiles. Time passes by until the school bell rings.

I stand up to leave and she gives me a sad smile. "Will you tell anyone?"

I fiddle with my bag strap and chew on the strings of my hoodie. She makes me want to tell someone - if it will make her happy - but I can hardly speak. And it isn't really a problem to me. I won't care for this in ten years time, anyway.

"I know you have trouble with talking, Patch. Maybe you could write it out for them? Or you could just show them your arm and they'll figure it out."

Trouble with talking? I have been meeting with Nora for years and yet I still speak in stichomythia. Communication isn't my forte. I don't even know who I would address about the situation.

"I'm scared, Patch," she continues, "I'm scared that I'll never see you again because you'll be dead. I don't want you to die. I-I almost died - it was a long time ago, but it was s-so painful, and I - Patch, please, I don't want you to - to have to go through that! I just - I just, I need you to tell someone w-what's happening," Nora sobs and blubbers and I rock myself on my heels, chewing harder on the hoodie strings until I can feel the burn in my jaw.

"I don't know what to do."

"Your - your teacher," she hiccups, "tell any t-teacher."

"I don't want to."

"Why?" Nora cries.

I want to tell her that I can't. I want to tell her that I am satisfied with how my life is right now. I chew on the strings feverhently. I want her to know that this potential change – be it positive or otherwise – will cause more anxiety than enduring.

She is still crying and she isn't looking at me. "Patch, I can't see you – see you like this." There is a pool of water under the mirror that looks like there is a leak. "I-I think it would be best…not to summon me – at least, n-not until you've sorted this out."

"You're leaving?"

"I-I can't stand to see you in – this state."

She does not want to see me anymore.

I am submerged in that emptiness. A chill sweeps over me and I feel the goosebumps protruding from my skin. I knew this would happen. I knew she would become tired of me.

I pull the hood over my ears and flick my fingers. Her face disappears. I indulge in my panic. I retch into the sink.

…

My mother thaws some of my chill. She hands me a bowl of toffee popcorn and we watch the 1951 version of A Streetcar Named Desire. My father walks in late from work and he crowds around the screen.

"Give me attention!" he demands, to which my mother flicks his cheek and directs her gaze towards Marlon Brando.

They squabble. I lick my fingers. The popcorn doesn't taste as nice. It is salty and soggy.

"Patch," my father whispers suddenly. He takes the seat beside me and presses his forehead to my temple. We did this when I was sad as a child. He stopped once the medication kicked in.

The tears on my cheek make his face feel uncomfortable and sweaty against my own. He pulls my hood off and runs his fingers through my hair. His tears meet my own.

I try not to flinch away.

"Son, you know I can't stand crying." It is a marvel how he stands me, then, I think. Because it appears that all I do in my recreational time is wipe at my tears.

"Dad," I say, and I know this is the first time I have addressed either of my parents in a long time. The TV has long since been silenced. "Dad, will you leave?"

"Leave? Patch, where would I go?"

Anywhere, I want to say. I want to ask him if he would go to the ends of the Earth to get away from me. I know I am not a normal human. I know that they were happy when they found out I had mage abilities and then unhappy when they found out I was abnormal. I sometimes wonder if they would have appreciated me more if I had neither.

"Patch, honey," my mother says from behind him, "We're family. We aren't going anywhere – you know that. Your father and I will stay with you until the world ends, and then even after that."

"I love you, Patch," my father says. "I love you forever and always. Whatever happens." He wraps his arms around my torso and presses me into him. His forehead is against my temple and our breath mingles. It is warm now.

…

It is the next day. I am sitting at the dining table with my mother. My father places a lavish breakfast in front of each of us, a habit which is a waste of time. My plate will remain untouched.

"This looks great, Nick!" my mother says excitedly, as she always does. She is more alert than usual.

"Thanks, sweetheart." He takes the seat beside me rather than Mum. "I made a fruit salad, Patch. With extra pineapple."

I do like pineapple. I slide a piece between my lips and it sits on my tongue uncomfortably.

"I bet you're wondering which occasion calls for extra pineapple, 'cous you damn well _know_ how much I hate cutting them things-"

"Yeah, we do Nick," Mum quips dryly.

"So_ without_ further ado, the occasion is – _drumroll, please_-" my father starts smacking his hands on the table, not dissimilar to an uncouth pre-pubescent daddy's girl, "-your enrollment to – _bam bam bam_ – The School of Home!"

My fork drops to the table.

"That's his way of saying homeschooling, dearie," my mother interjects. She places her hand over mine and I lack the capacity to pull mine away.

"Are you excited?" my father asks. "You'll have halvsies between me and your mum. I tried to rock-paper-scissors her over it but she won so I fucked her till she forgot."

"Nick!"

"And anyway, this is great because you can take days off whenever! So what do you think?"

I am in a daze. "You didn't ask," I whisper.

"What?" my father asked.

"You…didn't ask."

…

I am hugging my pillow to my chest.

My mother walks in and sits beside me on the bed. We stare out of the window for a long time.

"We want to help, Patch."

"I know."

"Just tell us what to do. Tell us how to make you happy. If this is about the homeschooling thing, I'm sorry. School wasn't working for you and I'm not putting you back in an environment where there's more harm than good happening. So if you want to go back, then that's off the table. But if you want to go to school, we can put you into another one – you know Riverdale, that's not too far away and the uniforms for there are really classy. I think you could like it there."

She is referring to the private school. A fourty minute drive away without rush hour traffic. Approximately an hour and a half by bus.

"I don't think I…fit well. In schools."

"Well I know you, and I know you can do anything you put your mind to. So if you want to go to school, I know you can do it. And who gives a hot damn about fitting in?"

"I can do anything?"

"You know you can do anything, Patch. You're the smartest kid in the block. Anything you put your mind to."

I think about all of the things I have not been able to do. I think about how I am really a coward and how my mother appears to be describing me, but me from a parallel dimension. I think about my secrets and I think about the secrets close to hand.

I drop the pillow. I pull my sleeve up and show her the etchings on my arm.

…

My father is angry and upset. He takes it upon himself to score through all of his canvas' with a penknife until the utility room floor is no longer visible.

My mother is distant and detatched. I take a moment to consider what wrong I've done. She snaps, "Stop it, Nick."

My father is bad at internalising his emotions. He is like a child. His temper has made his cheeks flush. His anger appears to be incomprehensible. I would like to console him but he is uncharacteristically lost for words and I do not want to make him more upset.

He grunts and picks up his cricket bat. There is a sculpture in the corner that he begins to decimate. His shoulders slump as it has been reduced to shards.

"Delightful," my mother says. "That thing was an eyesore, anyway. Worst wedding present." She takes a sip from her mug.

"How can you be so calm about this?" His voice is loud.

Her voice is irritable. "I'm drinking bloody booze out of a Captain America mug and watching my husband destroy my house. _You_ are being selfish. Focus on Patch rather whatever the hell you're doing." She motions wildly around the room.

There is a silence as Dad stares at the bat. His face has creased in on itself.

"Patch," he drops the bat. "Who did that?"

I don't know why that makes me anxious. I knew what to expect. I chew on my hoodie strings. I avoid their gaze.

"You know what," he snaps. "Fuck this. I'm going to the school. They'll tell me. I'm gonna sue – I'm gonna _rip their brains out_, I swear to God-" he continues muttering unintelligably. I feel like he is angry at me. I open my mouth to say something. It falls shut.

He pushes past us. He runs down the stairs, grabbing his keys from the hook.

My mother stops him just as he steps out.

"Shoes." She points to his bare feet.

…

"Patch!" she exclaims. "I'm so sorry for saying what I did before-" she suddenly pauses. "Who's _that_?"

She is pointing to my mother.

"I'm Patch's mum," she says. "Who are you?"

"Meeting the 'rents – that's quite a big deal, eh?" Nora winks at us but we remain stoic. "Well, uh, anyway – I'm Nora Gray, resident of the mirrors since oh nine – what year is it?"

"2017."

"Cool! And I'm Patch's friend. I owe him a hugggge apology. Sorry." Her eyes twinkle as she looks at me. I shrug.

"Save that for later. Do you know who is hurting Patch?"

"No. It's someone at his school," Nora says. "You told them?" she directs towards me with a grin.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I am upset that she forced me to tell anyone about the bullying.

"How long has it been going on for?" My mother redirects her attention.

Nora hums. "I've known about it since around the time Patch got a nose piercing," she says. "Sorry, but there isn't really a scope of time in here." She motions to the mirror around her.

"What has happened before the incident with his arm?"

Nora frowned. "Patch, can I tell her?"

I shrug again. My mother squeezes my shoulder. "At this point, I don't think it matters _who_ says it. It's going to come out of the works. You would make my life a lot easier if you told me."

Nora nods and takes a deep breath. "Okay," she says, "well this is what I know…"

…

My father returns at twelve fourty-five and there are two police officers trailing after him.

I watch him from my bedroom window as he walks them up the stepping stones and unlocks the door. Nora sits behind me in my bedroom mirror but I have yet to say anything to her.

"Are you upset with me?" she asks. She has been asking the same question again and again.

I do not know. There is something churning inside me and I cannot focus on anything aside from that. Nora did exactly what I wanted: she told my mother the truth. I do not understand where the festering feeling of anger came from, or when it will go away.

My father calls me downstairs. I leave Nora without a backward glance.

…

My father takes a seat beside me on the sofa. The police officers are on the opposite set of seating. One has their notepad open and is angling their black Bic biro over a clean page. The other takes a sip of their tea, their hat removed to reveal a patch of baldness. There is a tape recorder on the coffee table between us.

I think it is their way of creating a relaxing environment – for who, I have no idea. I was under the assumption that the usual protocol was that reports were made at the station. Not intruding in my house.

"Hi Patch," the one with the tea says, smiling. "My name's PC Rickson, but you can call me James if you want. This is PC Garcia – she goes by Sofia. Your father says you've been having problems at school."

"No."

PC Rickson puts his tea on a brown coaster. There are deep laughter lines in his face. "So nobody hurt you?"

I doubt he meant it in the spiritual sense. I know what he is getting at. I do not want to say anything but both my mother and father are in the room. I cannot stand to be the victim of their exasperation.

I pull my sleeve down to show him.

I am waiting for their dismissal, am revealed and leaning forward uncomfortably. Rickson says nothing and Garcia notes something down. My father emits a controlled breath.

"How did you get that, Patch?"

Rickson takes a sip of his tea. My mother flits around the doorway. My father squeezes my knee and I say nothing.

PC Rickson is a middle-aged man. He is neither well built nor unfit. His eyebrows are bushy and his face is scarred. He has the odd habit of drumming the fingers of his left hand against his knee.

"You can trust us," Garcia speaks up. "We are here to help you, Patch. If you tell us who did this then we can get justice for you."

"You don't need to be scared." Rickson has stopped drumming his fingers and clasps them loosely in his lap. "You're underage so your identity will be kept a secret. Nobody'll hurt you again once you've told us."

"That is a lie." My mouth feels obscure, forming so many words in the presence of strangers.

The room goes silent again. "We'll do our best to keep you safe, Patch – but you've got to tell us what happened to you."

I want to ask them if they will leave me alone if I tell them, but words escape me. I stare at them blankly, feeling desperate. I never decided if I wanted to tell this many people and now I'm being forced to.

Garcia rips out a sheet of paper from her notepad. "Will it be easier for you to write down what happened?"

I stare at the even lines of the paper. It wouldn't be easier. My fingers feel heavy. I don't want to tell them.

"Path, think about Nora," my mother pipes up. "She wanted you to do this, right?"

Nora wanted me to be in _this_ position? It is suffocating. I will not talk to her again.

My father grabs my knee. "You do this, Patch, and I'll buy you a new laptop."

I tap Garcia's Bic on the coffee table.

"You drive a hard bargain, son – I'll pay for your driving lessons too.

"Okay – okay, so you don't like that idea. Haven't you always wanted to go to Italy? We'll go there. This summer – it'll be awesome. Two weeks. I'll book my holidays as soon as we're done here."

I don't want driving lessons or a laptop or a trip to Italy. I want everyone to stop talking and to stop asking me to talk.

"Yellowstone as well, alright? We'll go to Yellowstone straight- _ow_, what the hell, Patch?"

I slide Garcia her Bic. "Baruch Samson. Scott Parnell. Rixon Matthews."

She writes down the names fervently.

"Are they who hurt you?" Rickson asks.

I nod. Rickson looks ready to ask another question so I try to leave.

"Patch, please cooperate. They just need to ask a few more questions." My mother ushers me back to the sofa and my father slings an arm over my shoulders, holding me down in a way I assume was supposed to be subtle. The normalicy of it is comforting nonetheless. "Let them do their job, sweetheart."

"Can you please tell us exactly what happened?" Garcia asks. "Who the instigators were, where you were hurt and exactly what they did to you."

I lean onto my father's warm shoulder. I take a moment to gather myself and the courage. "Boy's toilets…near English. Baruch began. Pushed and punched me. Played around with the lighter."

My father squeezes my shoulder when my voice ebbs away. The officers seem to be intent on letting me go on my own pace.

"Rixon had a penknife. Scott and Baruch held me down. Rixon…" I motioned to my arm.

"Victim pointed towards his arm," Garcia says. The tape recorder blinks on the table.

When it is clear that I plan on saying no more, Rickson speaks up, "How long did this go on for?"

"Around ten minutes."

"Have they hurt you before?"

"Yes."

My father squeezes my shoulder and I wonder how long I will have to be here before they let me leave.

…

The police leave after it is clear that I no longer want to talk.

My mother hands me her mug, "You did good, Patch," but I hand it back to her and turn towards the stairs.

They get the point and leave me alone for a long while.

…

My next few days are spent recharging. I am tired, as normal, but I do not have to go to school anymore. A lot of time is spent reading textbooks and answering the questions. I stick to the regular school day times and avoid my family.

They don't seem too keen on my avoidance – my father less than my mother – so when he calls me down for breakfast after three days without seeing me, I accept his request. He is dramatic and I am not willing to hear him shout at me for no reason.

He wordlessly hands me a plate of chopped fruit and my mother compliments his cooking. He slides in the seat beside her. I spear fruits on my fork, avoiding the chunks of sour apple.

"Are you angry at us?" my father asks.

I want to tell him that there is no 'us'; if I was angry at anyone, it would be him for bringing the police. Perhaps I would blame the route of the problem – Nora. But in reality, I am more tired than angry. I do not want to talk. I want to play with my fruit salad and lock myself in my room for the rest of the day.

"We try so hard to make you happy, Patch. No one else has to try so hard for their kids. I-I don't mean it like that, it's just – I mean, we do _try_, Patch. I know I don't always get it right but it's not for lack of want. It would be great if sometimes you just gave an indication that we were doing okay."

I stare at a semi-white strawberry.

"I know you're upset about the homeschooling thing too. Your mum said you don't want to go to school anymore, though – do you want, maybe, uh – maybe a tutor? Someone to teach you that's not me or your mum. Would you like that?"

In all honesty, that is a big question and I want some time to answer it. I tap my fork handle on the table and look at the grooves in the wood.

I can feel his frustration mounting at my lack of answer. The room is silent for a long time.

"You know what?" He suddenly stands up, smacking his cutlery on the table. "You have spent half a _week_ moping, Patch. You don't eat, you clearly aren't sleeping properly and you haven't even showered. Bloody hell you haven't let us take you to the hospital for your goddamn arm injury! No more. No _bloody_ more." He grabs my forearm and hauls me off the table. "What, think just because I messed up you can fucking punish me like this? You-"

"Shut up and sit down, Nick," my mother snaps. "Sit down, Patch. This is a family meal. You'll leave when I tell you to." She motions to my plate. "Finish that and get some more. Then you can leave."

I know she is concerned for my wellbeing but it is annoying. I find eating boring so I don't do much of it. But fine; if she wants me to eat, it will be easier to concede rather than fight. I sit in the chair. I rub my arm. We are silent. When my plate empties, my mother fills it with a large portion.

I take a long time eating. My throat does not work. My parents finished long ago and they sit at the table awkwardly.

When I am finished with my plate, we sit in silence. Maybe they are waiting for me to begin. I am just waiting for them to end.

My father picks up the plates and my mother brings over a notebook from somewhere.

"Let's sort out this schooling malarkey," she says. "Then you can go back to your room."

…

"Patch!" my mother calls for me from downstairs. "Patch, there's someone here to see you!"

I check the clock – it blinks _18:17_. I wonder who would come to see me. I consider that the police may be back again and steel myself, sliding my hoodie on so I have something to hide my hands in.

I am slowly making my way down the steps, counting each one. Perhaps my father and mother wish to discuss my attitude towards being a shut-in with them again. I did not disclose much information this morning and should probably expect an appointment with my therapist sometime soon. They may try to alter my medication slightly if they think something is wrong, but I doubt that.

When I am down the stairs I make my way to the living room, sliding through the doorway when I see it is open.

There is a guest sitting on the sofa. She has red hair and is wearing a purple denim skirt layered over black leggings. As soon as I walk in, she stands up.

"Patch!" she says with excitement. "In the flesh!" She giggles. She doesn't say much else, too busy smiling and looking at me.

My parents are sitting on the sofa, grinning. They have pushed the furniture to the corners of the room to make space in the centre. There is a tall mirror propped up against the wall and the floor has been chalked with white symbols.

They have done a summoning ritual.

"Hey." My voice comes out soft. She smiles even wider when she hears it.

"I love your voice," she says. "Okay, okay, I'm totally trying not to grab you and hug you right now butttt _Patch_ –" she holds her hands out and makes grabbing motions with them. "Pretty pretty please," she sings, and grabs me anyways when I don't respond. She swings us from side to side, yammering, but all I can hear is the fuzziness in my ears. I pull her closer. I can hear her better now and I can feel her laugh vibrating through my chest.

I look over my shoulder. My mother is crying into Dad's arms. He sees me staring and winks.

**A/N: Pretty sure I promised a longer chapter a while back? Took me ages to finish for reasons you can probably understand when reading it **

**loved it but mostly hated it wtf patch would never be like this and ugh its terrible**

**lol don't like it don't read it im just rolling around like a seal in a tablespoonful of water**

**thank you ****FireBreathingBitchQueen1**** for your review! I will do your prompt soon babes xxx**

**I CAN SEE Y'ALL READING. all 14,000+ of you. I better get me more comments bitches I s2g or i'll seal you later. this chapter however poor took me ages. I deserve more. I want more. give me everything. GIVE ME IT ALL GIVE ME EVERYTHING I CAN'T STOP I WONT STOP I WILL SURVIVE I WILL PROSPER YASSS BITCH SLAYYYYYYY **


	45. Nora's a Gardening Tool

Number 45 - AU

Nora's a Gardening Tool

"Ah," Nora said. "You're the new learning support, right?"

"Right," Patch said with a smirk. "And you're the teach, yeah?"

She shook her head ruefully, "Yeah. Should we get started?"

…

What was lust, really? Could we not just lust for anyone – technically we could, right? And we could fall in love with anyone, as long as you could tolerate them for long enough.

So there was nothing wrong with lust, right? Because it was natural. It was natural to lust for anyone; it was as natural as sweating in the summer. Uncontrollable.

…

"That was a terrible lesson," Patch said, looking ashen. "Are they always like that?"

Nora giggled. "You've been here for over two weeks, Patch – you know they're only like that on Friday. You're just being melodramatic."

"Two weeks," he said, "And I have no idea how I'd come back if I didn't have a cute teach helping me out."

"Well you better find that cute teach, because they could help me out too."

Patch laughed and snuck an arm around her waist – her breath hitched and _oh my god_ she should tell him to move away but-

"Found her," he murmured to the shell of her ear.

…

Flirting was really just a way of communicating, right? And what happened in the classroom was _hardly flirting_. It was more just a joke; yes, a joke. Just a joke between the two of them. Nora couldn't have pushed him away – what if he had felt unwelcome? He had only been here for a couple of weeks – she didn't want him to feel awkward.

It was okay. Nora was just accomodating for her new friend. She wasn't doing anything wrong.

…

"I wanted to get you some flowers, I mean, you helped me settle in to this place and I couldn't be more grateful. It's my first job as a learning support, you know, and I was kinda nervous before I came, but, well–" he held the flowers out to her, "Thank you."

His feelings were clear by the embarrassed flickering of his eyes, unable to focus on her, and Nora took the flowers with only a slight hesitation. They were gorgeous – red roses, wrapped indulgently in golden patterned tissue paper, and they were so fragrant.

"It was my pleasure," she said, and he kissed her.

…

"Oh, honey, where did the flowers come from?"

They were quite a statement, red and glorious on the kitchen table, visible for anyone entering through the front door.

"I bought them for you," she said, "On my way back from work."

Nora could hear his amused laughter from the other room, and he walked through to the lounge.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he said, pecking her on the same lips that had the pleasure of tracing someone else's.

…

There was a sliver of something in her gut. Guilt? But how could she be guilty if she'd done nothing wrong?

She did something right, actually. She didn't make Patch feel embarrassed or guilty about the roses – because clearly _red roses_ were for more than coworkers and he'd only just started the job; how would he rebound from an odd rejection? And her husband actually appreciated the flowers, they'd made someone happy, so it was basically killing two birds with one stone.

The heaviness in her stomach wouldn't leave, but she repeated the words in her head until she fell asleep.

…

"Are you busy tonight?"

"Nah, not really," Nora said, flicking through her pile of marking.

"Wanna go out? I heard of this great new place that just opened up – I mean, if you like Italian."

"Who doesn't?"

Patch grinned, looking down at Nora who was still soley focussed on finishing up her work. "Is that a yes?"

His eager grin, his young, youthful smile…

…

There was something exciting about being with a younger man…about doing it behind her husband's back – _something flattering, something lovely_. She deleted Patch's texts instantly so there was no trace of them. And what could she do, if she was making _two_ men happy? Her husband's easygoing smile…Patch's mischief…something twisted in her gut when Patch fucked her that night, and the same feeling but twice more when her husband did the same.

The man she loved the most in the world. She was breaking his heart but he didn't even know it.

…

"Nora, honey…are you sure about this? It's a pretty big step." Her husband was understanding, kind…it just made everything feel so much worse inside her.

"I'm sure." Her voice was quiet and upset.

"You've always been an independent woman, Nora. And I admire that. So can I have a reason why?"

And when she looked out of the sliding glass doors into her grey and rainy garden, all she could think was _no_. He couldn't know why. He couldn't know about the black-haired man with a smirk so strong, honey skin and honey lips.

…

It was midday. Someone was at door. Nora was still in her nightwear; fluffy woolen socks and a soft negligee.

"Patch," she greeted.

He must have come during his lunch break, "Nora, I heard you – _resigned_?"

"Yes," Nora said, leaning against the doorframe so he wouldn't come in. "Listen, Patch. What I had with you was really, really great, but –" she took a deep breath, unable to hold his gaze, "- I love my husband. Very much."

"_What_?"

"My husband," she said. "I love him very much."

"Husband?" His face was creased. "You're _married_?"

"Well, yes."

"You're married. Fuck. You're married." He wouldn't look at her straight. "You're _married_. I fucked around with a married woman. Oh _fuck_." He gritted his jaw.

"Listen, I'm sorry-"

"Oh fuck right off are you _sorry_. You slept around behind your husband's back! You – you fucked around! With – with _me_!"

She winced. "Patch, babe –"

He held a hand up to halt her words, struggling to comprehend what she was saying. "You're married?"

And this time it sounded like a question, so Nora nodded.

Patch looked up towards Heaven. The tick in his jaw betrayed his true emotions. "Be glad I didn't fall in love." But his voice broke. The betrayal she'd thrust in his arms, "You – you made me fuck around with a married woman and I didn't even know it."

"I know," she muttered, looking down.

His eyes were squinted in the sun. his breath slowed. "So that's why you quit?"

"Yes."

He took a deep breath. "So that's what's happening, yeah? You cheat on your husband and use me to do it. Newbie, younger. Figure I must be an easy target, yeah?"

"Patch, _you_ came on to _me_."

He smirked. "Yeah? You never even fucking told me you was married."

Nora quietened down. She looked at her sock-clad feet. Patch backed away and left. Nora stayed at the door for a long time…half-expecting him to walk back, half-expecting him to kiss her that way that made her so damn horny. But the man was gone and Nora was alone at the door.

Nora shut the door. Something squirming settled in her gut. Alone. Alone to loving her husband.

She smiled.

**A/N Who knows why Nora is such a hoe. Clearly the attention of two men is getting to her head.**

**FireBreathingBitchQueen1: I am doing your prompt now but I think it will exceed the age rating of these one-shots so I will most likely post it as a separate piece! Keep you eyes peeled xx**


	46. Meeting NG

Number 45

Meeting NG

Nora Gray is dead.

Dead! Nora Gray is dead.

Her ashes litter the cemetery like gold dust in a field of flowers. Her heart beat thrumbs through the headstones like a butterfly caught in a jar. _Dead_. Nora Gray is dead.

…

Patch Cipriano feels dead.

There is something missing.

He is an angel – a fallen one, perhaps, but an angel nonetheless –

_So he knows why._

He knows why he feels this way.

He doesn't know that Nora Gray is dead – but he knows this heartbreak is because of the death of someone in his future.

Is it odd – to want to mourn someone you didn't know?

Patch spends days of his time in his underground apartment, unmoving, unquestioning of this emotion. Rixon cannot help. Dabria – the witch – even the thought of pissing her off cannot help.

Patch feels alone.

And then he gets moving again.

He spends his time doing his usual things to get money – gambling and stealing and killing. What were humans, anyway, but the things to give you money? A lesser species. A means to an end.

He does this for weeks – until they begin.

The hallucinations. The visions. Turning his head to watch a girl only for her to turn her face towards him – for him to see what she looks like – for him to feel disappointed.

Patch knows he should have met the dead person by now. _He knows he should have met Nora_.

The hallucinations – at the pier – playing an arcade game – someone swatting his arm – _she's not wearing make-up because I told her not to _– small glimpses of someone he knows doesn't exist. A faceless female further from this Earth than Corbyn is from a majority.

Visions of kissing someone – and tomatoes – Patch winces when he tastes cherries on his lips – in his mind, he builds this bigger picture of this beautiful girl –

_Whose dead. Nora Gray is dead._

Sleepless nights of remembering her…

…but they're not memories because they never happened.

Mourning this dream-girl – _Angel_ – because she's dead…

And Patch knows it. Patch knows that Nora Gray is dead.

**A/N: thank you hope79 for the prompt! Your comments were so cute I swear! you made me update this dry story which I partially detest...AT LEAST IT WAS NORA DYING THIS TIME LOOK AT THAT CHANGE OF PACE YAS BOIS! Thank you for your comments on my writing...you sure know how to make a girl blush!**

**And lads, I've published 2 other one-shots separately if you want to check them out (their rating was different to this one so I was like why not, i'll publish them separately) check them out from my profile (called Banana and An 8 Course Meal Called NG)**

**Goodbye frands**


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